


Strider

by himekohimura



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aragorn/Arwen Friendship, Hobbit Continuation, Like as slow as an Ent build, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2817626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himekohimura/pseuds/himekohimura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil sends his son into the Wilds to find a Man named 'Strider'. A story of the meeting of Aragorn, son of Arathorn and a Prince of Mirkwood. </p><p>(OR, what really happens between BotFA and FotR)</p><p>(Not abandoned, just moved to a different country and its hard to write right now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shadow of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Changed a few things because of inconsistencies between book and movie franchise. Also I need things to change so that I can have a coherent story lol. At the end of the Hobbit, Aragorn should be about 27. Backing everything up about 7 years for story's sake.

The image of Tauriel sitting with her deceased beloved’s head on her lap sits unhealthily in the back of his mind, taunting him. Legolas has always been fond of the she-elf. He doesn’t have many friends as the son of a king, especially with an aloof and fiercely protective father, and seeing her in pain is an unwelcome sight, though one long predicted. Sooner or later she would have lost him, to war or age. Dwarves are strong and long lived, but none are comparable to an Elf. And with war brewing in Middle-Earth, it is not certain that even an Elf mate would live very long. Only heartbreak seemed to follow those foolish to fall in love and Legolas is no fool.

His horse slows as he nears the Greenwood and a bit of him aches to go home, to frolic in the woods like a young Elf. To be watched over by his father in that way he used to before he reached his majority and the end of need for parental protection. But no, he would continue on, find this ‘Strider’ his father speaks of. He feels as though he is riding towards destiny, the trees around him singing a song of farewell and long journey. They lay peace on his heart, and a sense of adventure fills him. Though it is odd that his father would send him off after a human, but curiosity has always been his weakness. What is so special about this fellow that he must earn his name through acquaintance and not introduction?

Whatever it is, he is bound to find out.

****

Elrond returns home with little fanfare, though he is surprised by his daughter waiting at the foot of the stairs to his rooms. Concern marrs her face and Elrond realizes that she has already heard of the Lady Galadriel’s weakness. News travels fast between realms, even faster than Elrond’s mighty steed. “She is well,” he informs her, and watches as her face visibly relaxes. “I will not think ill of you if you wish to travel back to Lorien.”

“No, ada, I have barely the time to spend with you since Galadriel brought me home some moon’s hence. The dwarves’ business and the twin’s mischief have kept me from you,” she smiled as her father took her hand and kissed it gently. “Though I am worried about the Lady of Lorien, I am most worried about my father.” She pointedly looks at his full armor.

“Do not worry yourself over me,” Elrond shakes his head. “Tell me then, what of my sons? What mischief have they wrought while I have been abroad?”

“They keep something from me, ada,” Arwen pouts slightly, unbecoming of the lady she has become. But before her father, she is still but a babe. “They misdirect and lead me astray and I tire of it. What could it be that they must protect even from me?”

Elrond blinks before realization dawns on him. “Ah, I know what it is they keep from you,” Elrond chuckles, letting Arwen’s hand fall from his own. “Let me change and talk to your brothers and I shall introduce you to him.”

“Him?” Arwen’s head cocks to the side. “They are keeping me from someone?”

“They are protective of this one, far more than the others that came before him.”

His words sparks understanding in Arwen’s eyes. “Ah, a Ranger Chieftain. But what danger could I impose on this Ranger? I have meet all those you have fostered before, sons of your brother many times removed.”

“This one is special, Arwen, I have Seen it,” Elrond moves toward the stairs. “Go rest, and I shall see to it that you are properly introduced to our Estel.”

***

“He still yet broods, brother. What are we to do?” Elladan elbows his brother who elbows him back. 

“We leave him to it, what else can we do?” Elrohir frowns, watching their foster brother sit on a bench looking out over Rivendell. “Besides, were you not on Arwen duty? She cannot meet our foster brother when he is this way, it will make her depressed beyond all measure. I mean look at him, he’s an absolute mess!”

“I’m a Man, not deaf,” Estel calls out to them, turning toward the bush in which the twins are hidden. “Come out, the two of you, so I may speak my mind.”

“Come out, he says,” Elladan grumbles even as Elrohir pulls him out of their hiding place. “When you sulk like this we worry for our lives!”

“You do have a tendency to have a sharp tongue when waylaid with worries, Estel,” Elrohir says even as Estel’s face twists at his elven name. “It is a new development in you, though not unheard of as we know it as a side effect of majority. But we were hoping your months in the Wilds would cure you of it.” 

“If I have a sharp tongue it is due to your bumbling,” Estel snaps. “You shadow my steps ever since I returned. I wish the two of you be gone and leave me with my thoughts.”

“But that is the problem here, my lord,” Elladan says. “You are way too involved in your thoughts and less in the outside world.” He tugged at Estel’s shoulder. “Please, brother, we wish you to join us as you have always done before. In training and other things besides.”

“I have no wish to join you at this moment,” Estel stands, brushing his foster brother’s hand off his shoulder. “If I must spend my time, I spend it readying myself for my next journey. The Wild waits for no one, especially it’s Chieftain.” The last word is spat like a curse and the twin’s exchange looks.

“Are you still angry about your birthright? Aragorn is such a beautiful name, do you not think so, Elrohir? The Rangers seem to adore you even though you have only been with them just several months. Just hence I have met with Eredain and he seems besotted with your grace.”

“They call you Strider, a strong name among the eyes of Men,” Elrohir nods emphatically, trying to appease their foster brother who looks like he’s about to run them through with his daggers. “Please, Estel, know that it is not ada’s fault that you were kept in the dark.”

“Is it?” Estel cut in, fury written into his sharp features and the twins fall silent. “He made the choice to keep me in the dark. He could have told me earlier--”

“No, I could not,” the three turn to the new voice, the Lord of Rivendell standing tall in his flowing robes, observing them with a passive gaze. Elladan and Elrohir bow an elven greeting to their father while Estel glares. “Go now my sons, I have much to discuss with your brother.” 

The twins scuttle away, glancing curiously at the pair before vanishing, no doubt finding a proper place to eavesdrop, as is their way. Elrond sighs. They were entirely too playful for their age, one would think them below their majority with such mischief. “Estel, sit, be at rest.”

“I’d rather stand,” Estel’s voice is hard and cutting, but Elrond just nods in concession.

“I wish I had not been so rushed when I had told you of your birthright--” he begins, but his foster son cuts him off.

“You should have not had to tell me at all. You should have raised me with this knowledge as you had to those generations ago,” Estel hisses in anger. “You had no right to keep it all from me!”

“As your guardian I had every right to do what I did,” Elrond’s voice is firm even in the face of his foster son’s rage. “Your mother made me swear not to tell you. I would not go against such an oath to a dying woman.” 

 

Estel’s face contorted slightly in the memory of his mother, one he had lost at too young an age, but not too young not to remember her gentle touch. “I still wish I had been told sooner, before being dragged off into the Wilds with people I know nothing about.”

Elrond nods. “Yes, I agree that the timing of my tales was of particularly bad taste. But there is great peril in the world, more so now than before. I was drawn away to council and battle before I could finish my explanations.” Estel falls silent, his face full of conflicting emotions. Elrond gentles his voice. “Your mother didn’t want to heavy your shoulders with such a burden until she felt you would be strong enough to do so.”

“I..." Estel sighs. "I don’t know what to do.”

“Do as you always have, my Estel,” Elrond says, laying a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Follow your heart.”

***

His feet takes him to the Shards, sitting on display in front of a painting of the great battle on the hills of Mordor. They taunt him of his line’s great failures. He has heard the speakings of Elves, has heard of Isildur’s tale in both wonder and disdain. What of Aragorn, son of Arathorn? What will he make of himself? 

He is the last of a line of kings, long faded into memory, now a Chieftain of a dying race. The Rangers of the North were good people. They came to Rivendell frequently, for an exchanging of wisdom and news. And even though he had been kept from his birthright, the Rangers were not kept from him. Estel was known to them, if only as Elrond’s ward. When he was finally announced as their Chieftain, they gave no quarrel, just surprise and acceptance, as was the way of their people. 

Eredain, the man who had taken charge of the Rangers in the absence of a Chieftain, took him under his wing. And in the months he’s been away from Rivendell he has learned many things. The Wilds are so much different than the fields and forests that surround Rivendell. Rougher, more dangerous. Though he may be burdened with a birthright and lineage that he does not desire, he enjoys this Ranger business. He has lived with peaceful Elves for so long that the sense of adventure that fills him with every step away from his home is addicting. 

“Are you the most precious thing my brothers are keeping from me?” Estel turns, startled by the sudden voice. He is not so easily snuck up on, but the She-Elf behind him smiles angelically and Estel’s heart stops in his chest. 

She is beautiful beyond any measure, so much more than any other Estel has ever seen. She reminds him of a story his mother told him as a child, of the great Lady Tinuviel and her great beauty. "Are you the Lady Tinuviel?" He questions before he can stop himself and winces at how ridiculous he sounds. This cannot be the same Elf, or could it be? Elves were long lived. 

The She-Elf laughed, the sound like the tinkling of bells. "Why do you say?"

"Because you are of the same likeness," Estel's words are so sincere that it elicits another delightful laugh from the other. 

"You are a Man with such sweet words. I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond," her smile is bright. "And who are you?"

"I am Estel, a ward of Elrond's," Estel answers eagerly. "Why is it that I have lived here for so long and yet not met you?"

"I have been visiting in Lothlorien with my kin for a time," Arwen explains. "I have heard of you, Estel. Though no thanks to my brothers."

"The twins are a force to be reckoned with," Estel agrees. "They have been pestering me non-stop since I have been back from the Wilds." 

"Have not," Elladan appears out of nowhere, Elrohir following close behind and Estel rolls his eyes. "Hail sister! I see you have met our wayward foster brother!"

"He has been sulking ever since father revealed to him the secrets of his birth," Elrohir adds unhelpfully. 

"Still your gossiping tongue," Estel growls and the twins laugh.

"Don't be so besotted by my sisters beauty, it is a mask for the beast within," Elladan says, to which Arwen steps on his foot and claims it an accident. 

"Ada bids both of you to come to meal," Elrohir makes a face. "A family dinner it seems." 

The four sigh in sync, understanding in each one. 

***

Legolas knows very little about the Rangers. Though they did pass through his woods many times since his birth, his father's orders were to leave them be and they did as they were told.

They seemed to be a solitary sort, very secretive of their comings and goings, though they spoke the language of Elves. He knew that the house of Elrond had dealings with Rangers, fostering one or two on occasion as Legolas had met one briefly on a visit to The Last Homely House. 

It seemed a good enough place to start, Legolas thought to himself, moving his horse down those paths. 

***

Dinner is awkward for everyone but it's host. Elrond is happy to have his family together and a chance to introduce his daughter to Estel properly. 

He names Estel by his birth name, Aragorn, that has Estel wincing. Arwen notices this and chooses to address him as Estel. 

_Beautiful and kind_ , Estel thinks.

"When will you be leaving with the other Rangers?" Elrond questions, pointedly ignoring the twins trying to get a rise out of Arwen and succeeding when the Evenstar kicks Elrohir under the table with a smile on her face. 

_Beautiful and strong_ , Estel thinks. 

"Eredain wants to head out before mid morning tomorrow," Estel answers his foster father's question. "I shall say my goodbyes tonight."

Elrond nods as the finish their dinner. Before Estel can head back to his rooms, Elrond pulls him aside. "I know you are cross with me, but do not let it mar your thoughts against Rivendell."

Estel shakes his head even before Elrond ends. "Rivendell is still my home," Estel says with conviction. "And you have been nothing but kind even against my anger."

Elrond's smile is fond. "You are the most interesting of all your ancestors, I will be proud of you no matter your choices," Elrond lays a hand on Estel's arm. "But be cautious with who you share your secrets with. There is evil afoot and it will not take kindly knowing that the heir of Isildur is still alive. Your mother suspected that the reason of your ancestors swift deaths were because of a need to wipe out your line."

"Eredain knows but other than he and your kin, there is no other."

"Keep it this way." Elrond bids his foster son night and hopes that this is not indeed the end of his brother's line of Men. 

***

Legolas arrives in Rivendell just as a company of Men leaves it's gates. Conveniently, the Lord Elrond is speaking to a lone Ranger and Legolas approaches with an Elven greeting that is returned by both and Legolas is surprised by how well the Man returns his greeting. "Legolas Greenleaf, it has been many seasons since your last visit here."

"I come seeking your wisdom," Legolas says. "And with news from the Lonely Mountain."

Elrond nods and turns to the Ranger. "Until the next turn of the moon, Estel. We shall eagerly await your return."

The Ranger nods and with a glance at Legolas, he leaves with the rest of his kin out the gates. 

"Now come, let us get you cleaned up before our talk. The Greenwood is far and you must be tired from your journey." Elrond leads the young prince further inside and toward the guest wings. "But tell me, how fares the Lonely Mountain? Has it been defended?"

"We were victorious," Legolas says, following the Elf-Lord. "But the cost was high."

"Your father?" Elrond questions as a courtesy; he knows that Legolas would not be here if his father was grievously injured or passed. 

"Ada still yet lives, undiminished," Legolas informs him. "The same cannot be said for the Dwarven leaders."

This stops Elrond in his tracks. "Thorin has fallen?"

"And his sister-sons."

Elrond's eyes close and his head bows for a second in contemplation. He looks up after a moment to Legolas and nods. "There is much to speak of, then. Here, you may use this room to freshen yourself and then come to the council room so we may properly exchange information."


	2. Not At Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this on Christmas, so Merry Christmas!

Legolas' report is succinct and directly to the point and Elrond wonders if he has been in the company of storytellers for too long as he expects relish where there is no need. He knows there are parts being glossed over, but thinks nothing of them. If there is something important to be known, it would make itself known in time. He is, after all, an Elf. And time is what he has the most of.

"And what, pray tell, brings a Prince of the Woodland Realm to Imladris?" Elrond questions as Legolas' tale comes to an end. "Surely this is a message that another could have brought."

For the first time since they have sat and broken bread together does Legolas' face show an emotion besides aloof passiveness. "I confess that I have left my father's realm on bad terms." There is embarrassment flickering within his pale eyes. "We have...been of conflicting minds."

Elrond laughs. "My dear boy, when is a son ever of the same mind as a father." He ignores the snort in the trees above them, though Legolas glances up with a frown. Elrond gently prods him on. "Speak, let me know your mind so that I can offer advice should you wish it."

Legolas hesitates, eyes searching the canopy above for a second before turning back to the elder Elf and speaking. "There was a time, long ago, when my father was not full of distrust," Legolas struggles to find a diplomatic way of expressing his worries without offending. "Before the Dwarves and the Dragon. He cares for his realm and is a good King. But...he protects what does not need protecting. And covets the impossible."

"If you are speaking of the white gems of Lasgalen, then this is not my story to tell," Elrond says. "Your father is the only one who has the right to speak that tale, so I suggest you one day ask him of it. As for his overbearing ways, he is a father and wants nothing more for you to be safe."

"He thinks I need protecting from my own friends," Legolas’ expression darkens. "Like an Elfling who does not know his own heart."

"Ah, this is about love then," Legolas winces slightly at his words. "If my daughter or sons bring back someone I disapprove of I would be most displeased."

"I have no need for love," Legolas dismisses the notion. "But my father dictates even my choice of friends." Legolas sighs heavily. "I am sorry my lord, these are worries I should not burden you with."

"Nonsense," Elrond waves away the apology. "Many, if not all, come to Rivendell for advice and I am always glad to give it. But it is not advice from your father's woes or a report from the Lonely Mountain that brought you to my doorstep, is it?"

"No," Legolas shakes his head. "At our parting, my father bade me to find a person named 'Strider', a Ranger of the North. Seeing as you have dealings with them I had wondered if you have knowledge of such a Ranger."

Elrond's eyebrows lift at the name. "I do know of a Ranger named Strider, but I do not know why your father would send you on such a quest." Elrond chooses his words carefully. He had spoken of Estel when he had stopped briefly in Mirkwood on his way to Dol Guldur, but was a passing mention, only told for politics sake. All the Lords of the Elves should be aware what could come to pass should Estel take up his destiny. But why would Thranduil send his son to find him? Could the King have Seen something Elrond has not? It has been many a millennia since Thranduil has let himself See. What happened that would force the Elven-king to allow visions to return to him? 

"He implied that there was another name I am to find, a name that can only be received by acquaintance with this Man." 

"I am afraid you have just missed him," Elrond says. "The company you passed on your way in escorted him back to the Wilds for his training and if you hurry you could catch him. But I think it more wise if you rest yourself. This war and battle that you have left only just a few days pass is not something you can walk away from without a moment of respite. He will be back in a turning of the moon, if you care to wait for him here."

Legolas pauses for a second in contemplation and Elrond knows he is inwardly testing his own strength and will to carry on through the Wilds of Eriador. Legolas is young and full of vigor, but even Elrond can see the other is pale from battle and travel. Though, the Prince is of his father’s blood so Elrond expects to have to do some convincing. Oropher’s line was filled with Elf who were stubborn and headstrong.

But fortunately Legolas nods and spares Elrond the duty of insisting. “You are right, it has been a long battle and I am weary in places I had not known one could become weary. If you will allow me to stay, I will do so.” 

“My home is always open to you, Legolas Thranduillion,” Elrond smiles and motions to the trees above them. “Elladan and Elrohir will see you to better accommodations.”

“Ada!” The two elves drop from the branches. “You’re not supposed to let guests know we’re eavesdropping!”

“Most guests do not know you as well as this one,” Elrond shakes his head and even Legolas allows a fond turn of his lips. Elrond had allowed his sons, centuries past, to visit Mirkwood and they had taken a liking to the Elf-Prince they had found there. He had mentored the twins in the way of the bow and had also won over their hearts like none other. “It is not as if you two were trying hard.”

“Greetings Legolas, it’s been an age!” Elladan throws himself at the older Elf, though misses and stumbles forward when Legolas sidesteps his unwanted embrace.

“Have you learned nothing in the years you’ve been away from me, Elladan?” Legolas smirks, moving to the side when Elrohir tries the same thing. 

Elrond holds back a sigh as the three reacquaint themselves with each other in the only way the young knew how, with insult and wrestling. 

***

“What is war like, Legolas?” Elrohir questions as they watch the sunset from the highest branches of the tallest trees in Rivendell. Legolas sits lightly on the highest branch that can bear a Elf’s weight whilst the twins sit close together but on their own branches.

“Death, decay,” Legolas thinks back, expression falling into shadow. He thinks of Tauriel. Of his father’s gleaming armor. Of the Dwarves and Men and Elves and Orcs whose life blood still stain the ground. “Sadness, hate. Things Elves do not ponder much.” 

“Sounds awful,” Elladan frowns. “I don’t think I like war.”

“I don’t think anyone does,” Legolas says, voice soft with mourning. So many have died in because of greed and hate. “But in this age, we may not have a choice but to ride toward it.”

“Ada says that a darkness is coming,” Elrohir says as he reaches over to play with Elladan’s hair. “The earth resonates with it.”

“Do you really not mean to go home again, Legolas?” Elladan questions, leaning into Elrohir’s touch. “I would miss everyone greatly if I had to leave for too long a time.”

Legolas contemplates the question for a moment before answering. “I will go home one day.” His anger at his father and disappointment in Tauriel’s choice would fade in time. At the moment the feelings are still fresh but the lives of the Elven are long and emotions fade with time. “When the need is great I shall return to my father's halls.”

“Where will you stay? Here?” Elrohir questions. “Ada would love to keep you. He says you’re the best archer he has ever seen and your presence would be most appreciated.”

“I will stay until the Rangers return and then wherever fate may take me,” Legolas says. “Though beautiful and serene, I do not think Rivendell will be my final destination.”

“Your independence is inspiring,” Elladan laughs. “Not many Elf would wander alone, especially in such dark times. Orcs gather and plan. We have been out with the Rangers ourselves, hunting them down, but they keep multiplying like rats.”

“The woods of my home are also overrun with foul things. Ada has tightened our borders and retreated into the halls within the Mirkwood Mountains to keep us safe.”

“I would very much like to go to the Greenwood again one day,” Elladan sighs. “It has been such an age. The Silvan Elves there are of great beauty.”

“Not to mention the King himself,” Elrohir jokes and Legolas kicks his branch, though it barely dislodges the nimble Elf. “You cannot deny your father is quite handsome. Ada speaks sometimes of his beauty to Glorfindel when they have had too much to drink.”

“He is my father, Elrohir,” Legolas reprimands. “Do not speak of him in such a manner.”

“Then what of his son?” Elladan giggles as Legolas hops from his branch and chases them down the tree in the dying rays of the sun. Ever since Legolas has stepped onto their lands, there has been shadow in his eyes and gait and the twins are more than happy to chase those away with playful teasing. “They say the Prince of Mirkwood is a beauty beyond any other!”

“If I had but my bow, there would be an arrow between your ears!” Legolas grabs at Elladan who twists into the safety of his brother’s arms. 

“But you do not have your bow, pretty, pretty Prince of Mirkwood,” Elladan teases and runs with his twin through the halls of their home with a very vexed Legolas at their tails.

***

Tracking is steadily becoming Estel's favourite subject. Eredain says he has picked up on it faster than any other he has trained before. It makes Estel's chest puff with pride. Growing up with Elves meant that nothing he did was as good as any of those around him. With thousands of years under each belt, it was hard to impress any of them. Here with the Rangers, he could shine on his own. 

He finds the life of a Ranger simple. Guarding Eriador from the shadows, they patrolled the borders and plains alike, wandering the Wilds, keeping it Orc free. Eredain organizes the few Rangers left to make rounds and Estel falls into a routine of lessons and wandering.

"What do you see," Eredain asks as he always does when they are tracking Orc across an expanse. It is part of his new training, to read the ground as if it were a book made of dirt and plants. 

"They were travelling north, but turned here," Estel points to some dishevelled weeds and frowns, kneeling to get a better look. "Toward Isengard." He touches the ground, feeling the wetness between his fingers. "They are not but a few hours ahead."

"Good," Eredain says turning slightly to signal the rest of the men. "Your sword will have it's first blood tonight." Estel smiles, wide. At twenty and one, he has yet to use his skills on anything but bark and the blunt blade of a training sword so when they meet the Orc pack in the middle of the night, Estel's blood sings as he slashes into Orc after Orc. He is surprised how easily he brings them down, how easy it is to end life. He hopes that his kills will only ever be of this type. Of Orc and Goblin and Troll and other dark things. He cannot imagine using his sword on anything else but foul beasts turned from good. It is quick work with the ten of them in their company and just before dawn they are burning the corpses and Estel is wiping his blade clean. He wishes that Elladan and Elrohir were here to see his first kill. They had been his sword masters and would have liked to see how well Estel had performed in his first battle with barely a scratch on him.

“Aragorn.” Eredain calls his name twice more before the young Ranger finally turns, remembering that the name belonged to him. Eredain does not call him by Estel, he says it is an insult to his mother to call him anything else than his given name, though he does allow the name "Strider" among strangers. Eredain is quite aware of the danger of more than a few knowing his true name. "Come. There is yet one alive to be questioned."

The other Rangers have knives to it's throat and arrows ready should the Orc think of trying for it's freedom. Estel watches as Eredain approaches, face of stone. "Why were you headed toward Isengard? What business could you hold so close to a wizard of power?"

The Orc laughs, a grinding, choking sound. "Wouldn't you like to know, _Dunedain_ ," the Orc sneers, uncaring of the weapons that impedes it's safety. 

The Ranger holding the Orc shakes it. "Answer him, filth!"

"Orc do not answer to _you_. Darkness will overrun the land and there is nothing you can do about it." The Orc's eyes find Estel's and there is surprise in his dark eyes. Then he grins and cackles. "Even if you have found the heir of Isildur."

In the blink of an eye, the Orc's head rolls, cut with Eredain's sword. The other Rangers turn to Eredain and then to Estel. A silence falls upon the company, all of which had been unaware of the company they had kept all these months. Estel shifts uncomfortably. 

To Estel, Eredain assures, "Be unconcerned by this Orc's words. You are of the likeness of your forefathers, he only knows of your lineage by sight." To the others, he announces "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Gilraen's marriage to Arathorn had been abrupt and secretive, aware of the danger to the line of Isildur. Eredain only trusted few to know of Estel's ancestry, and his current company were not of those few. "He is our future Chieftain." He pauses, considering each face in his entourage. Then he smiles. "Should he ever learn how to hold a bow correctly."

There is a collective laugh and Estel finds himself relaxing. The Rangers are an honourable bunch, used to laying themselves in shadows. His secret, though revealed, may yet stay a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! Didn't think this would actually be read tbh haha. I also apologise on behalf of my muses being stubborn and not wanting to meet yet. Though it looks like their fated acquaintance shall happen very soon XD


	3. Many Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad that you guys like my twins XD Just a note so that everyone can be on the same page as me: I’m going by movie birthdates as this is a continuation of the movies. Legolas was born TA 87 in the movies (in the books he was born TA 1000-ish give or take a couple hundred years I think lol). I have kept the twin’s birth year from the books since they aren’t in the movies, which is TA 130. Which makes them only a bit younger than Legolas, but they act like they are only but a 100...for reasons XD Anyway, thanks for all your lovely comments and for the kudos and really just for reading! enjoy the next chapter!

The month out in the Wild seems short and Estel finds himself in the company of his foster family far sooner than he expects. The sun is just setting when they ride into the gates of Imladris and Estel’s heart warms when he sees Arwen with the twins at the stairs to meet him. Eredain pats him on the shoulder when they dismount, giving him leave from his side to go to his foster siblings and their breathtakingly beautiful sister.

"You look terrible," Elladan says even as he pulls Estel into an embrace.

"Thanks," he says wryly, rolling his eyes. Elrohir greets him in similar fashion, though without insult. 

Arwen is forever graceful and greets him with a kiss to the cheek and a twinkle in her eye. “I am glad to see you again, Estel,” she smiles and he feels his face heat in her gaze. The twins catcall, but they ignore them. "You must be tired from your journey."

"Very," Estel nods, allowing her to lead him further into Rivendell, entranced by her beauty. The twins wave as he is being pulled away, giggling behind their hands. It is amusing to them how very fond their siblings are of each other.

His room is as he left it, though aired and dusted as if he were expected. "Ada made sure to have someone see your room cleaned," Arwen explains when Estel runs a hand over his desk and it comes away clean. 

"Thank you, my Lady," Estel inclines his head and Arwen leaves him to freshen and change into something more appropriate for the halls of Elrond. 

He gathers a change of clothing and makes his way toward the baths, eager to be clean after a month in the Wilds. Though he does not mind bathing occasionally in a river or pond, his time among the Elves have made him spoiled on hot spring. Having one would be a pleasure he longs for. 

They are empty except for one sole occupant, who soaks with his eyes close on the far side, as away from the entrance as possible. Estel risks a curious glance as he heads toward the washing area; any more than that would be considered highly inappropriate. The Elf is not of Rivendell, that much is certain. The only golden haired Elf that resides in Imladris is Glorfindel and unless Glorfindel has shrunk, this is definitely not Lord Elrond’s best friend. Occasionally an Elf would come here from Lorien, on their way to the Grey Havens to pass on to the Undying Lands, but this Elf looks young even among Elves, and undiminished. 

'A messenger, then,' Estel thinks as he washes the grime of the Wilds off his skin. 'Probably something to do with those Dwarves that passed some time ago.'

The hot water elicit an involuntary moan of pleasure from him as he sinks into the milky pool and the Elf spares him a look and Estel smiles only to be ignored. A feeling of annoyance bubbles through Estel only to be stamped down. He is a Man and knows some Elf have not experienced the best of his race. 

He looks familiar, though, as if Estel has seen him before. He has an aloof, cold beauty that Estel is unused to seeing on Elves. Many Lorien Elves had a haughty bearing from living in the beautiful Golden Wood but this Elf had a different aura; stronger, more independent than any he's ever met. Like the stars on a winter night, distant and unapproachable.

"If you stare any harder, I may take offense." Estel jumps, startled by the break in silence and of the use of common speech. The Elf straightens in the pool, eyes piercingly blue, fixed on Estel. "Though I may just be unaware of the customs of Men and their public baths."

"I apologise," Estel lowers his gaze to the milky mineral water of the bath. Common speech feels unusual in his mouth. He only ever uses Elvish, even with the Rangers. "I meant no offense. You seem familiar to me somehow and I was only trying to discern my memory of you."

"I arrived a month ago whilst your company left for the Wilds," the Elf replies, eyes narrowing and Estel feels like he’s being judged. "What is your name, Ranger?"

Estel hesitates. What name does he give a stranger? He has so many now. His time in the Wild is making him more used to the name 'Aragorn' as the company he rides with calls him by that. Without his birth father's name attached, no one seems to make the connection to his lineage and any that do are dealt a swift death, like that Orc Eredain had slain. Strider was also acceptable but it feels strange giving an Elf his wandering name. "Estel," he decides on finally when he realizes he has tarried in his own thoughts for too long.

“Estel?” The golden Elf frowns, his head tilting to the side. “An unusual name for a Man.” 

“I was once a ward of Elrond’s,” Estel explains. What is so unusual about his name? He likes being called Estel. Arwen calls him by this, willingly and beautifully. He sees nothing wrong with it. “I also go by Aragorn, if this is more acceptable to your Elf sensibilities.” 

An eyebrow raises at Estel’s tone. “Aragorn, then.” It almost seems like the other chooses this name to spite him, though no emotion except for icy aloofness passes over his face. “I am Legolas Greenleaf.”

“Greenleaf, then,” Estel says, watching the Elf’s expression twitch slightly. Estel decides that he is a minor lord in the Golden Wood. He has met Haldir of Lorien. He wonders if this Elf is his friend. 

They lock gazes with each other for a moment longer before Legolas stands, unembarrassed by his naked form. Estel looks away for propriety's sake, but not before his treacherous brain can comment on how breathtaking the other is. ‘Like shimmering starlight,’ his mind supplies even as it says ‘Such wasted beauty on a frigid heart.’

“Good day to you, Ranger Aragorn,” Legolas says formally as he dries and leaves, and Estel struggles to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he responds back in kind.

‘What an absolute _torog_ ,’ Estel thinks after the Elf has gone, closing his eyes and letting himself soak for a bit more.

***

“You smell like Estel again,” the twins greet him as he arrives at the dinner table, leading him toward empty chairs. "We were worried you would like the smell of the Wild too much and we would have to force you into the baths ourselves." 

"I didn't smell _that_ bad," Estel frowns at them. "I cleaned up before we rode into the valley."

Elladan snorted. "If you call that cleaned up..." Estel kicked him in the shins.

Elrond, Eredain, and Glorfindel sit at the head of the table, deep in discussion. He would one day be in that huddle, as the new Chieftain. But for now he has barely achieved the status of Ranger amongst his kin, still a youngling in everyone’s eyes but his own.

His eyes fall to Arwen, who looks as radiant as ever. The twins roll their eyes when the two connect gazes. "You would think after a month they would have already grown out of it," Elrohir shakes his head as Estel leaves their side to go to her. 

"Separation makes the heart grow fonder," Elladan shrugs as the twins seat themselves further down the table from their father, mostly to be as far away from his wrath should they do something he didn't like at the dinner table. "He'll see the light sooner or later. Legolas did."

"Yes, but Legolas is an Elf, he's smarter," Elladan points out.

"You have a point."

Arwen and Estel pay the twins no mind as Arwen pats the seat next to her. “Sit, Estel, you must be weary from your journey.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Estel says, smile wide only for the only daughter of Elrond. “You are too kind to me.” She smiles back, glowing with the light of the Evenstar around her neck. The twins snort as they take their own places beside Elrond and Eredain. Others arrive and seat themselves, but Estel only has eyes for Arwen. 

They speak of the time they are apart. Arwen has been learning the healing arts, though is still no where as near good as her father. He speaks to her of reading the Earth and she tells him to listen to the trees and the plants as well. “They speak with their own voices,” she advises. “Do not _read_ the Earth, listen to it’s call.”

“You are Elven, my Lady,” Estel shakes his head. “They do not speak to Men as they do to your kin.”

“They will speak to you, my Estel,” Arwen assures him and Estel feels his heart leap at being called hers. “The Dunedain, especially their Chieftain, are blessed with this gift as well.” 

Plates of food appear before him and only then does he look across the table to his other dining companions. His movements freeze. Before him sits the golden Elf from the baths. _Legolas_ , his mind supplies. _Legolas Greenleaf_. The Elf lord is all but ignoring him, listening to the chatter of the twins who seem to know him well. 

“That is Legolas Thranduilion,” Arwen speaks from his side when she realizes where his attention has strayed. “Our kin from the Woodland Realms.”

“Woodland Realms?” Estel questions, eyes returning to Arwen, though they stray to the golden haired Elf inadvertently. “I have not heard of the Woodland Realms.”

“Mirkwood,” Arwen explains. “The forests north of Lorien. He is their prince.” 

“A prince?” Estel’s face scrunches up. Well that explains a lot. “I had no idea there was royalty amongst the Elves. Only lords and ladies, like yourself.”

Arwen laughs. “There are differences, in high politics, between the rankings of lords and ladies in Elven realms, but King Thranduil is the only Elf-King in this age. Legolas is his son.”

“Oh.” Estel glances back at the prince and finds Legolas looking at him. Their eyes meet for a second and a shiver runs up Estel’s spine. He turns away quickly, unable to keep contact with the clear blue of his eyes. 

He changes the topic quickly, not wanting to talk of the Elf any more than he really has to and Arwen complies with with no question. They speak of healing techniques whist they eat and Arwen promises to teach him the basics later while he waits for his company to move on from Rivendell again.

“Estel, I’d like you to meet our guest,” Elrond says as their meal comes to an end and Estel turns to his foster father curiously. Elrond motions to Legolas. “This is Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of the Woodland Realms.”

“We have met,” Estel nods toward the Elf who does not look to him, eyes fixed on Elrond instead.

Elrond claps his hands together. “Good, good. That’s very good. Legolas came from Mirkwood to meet you. ”

There is a second of silence as Legolas’ eyes reflect confusion, then widen when he realizes what Elrond is saying. “This is Strider?” he asks, tone full of disbelief. “This is the Ranger I was sent to find? He is but a child.” Estel bristles at his words.

“Estel is of age,” Elrond says. “He is my ward, left to me by his mother for safe keeping. He goes by Strider in the Wilds.”

“But you said your name was Aragorn,” Legolas directs his words to Estel, switching to the Common speech and the syllables sound like an accusation. His eyes light up in the candlelight, dark blue blazing as it focuses on the Man across from him. "Estel. Never Strider."

“I have many names, Greenleaf,” Estel answers, deliberately cryptic, eyes narrowing at Legolas' tone. The table’s occupants watch the two clash without words and Elrond’s eyebrows lift in surprise. Estel is the least confrontational of all his children, foster or not, a child with a grim personality but passive and patient, more Elvish than Elves at times. Legolas is a quiet and reserved Elf, taught control by his father and not prone to outbreaks of emotion like this. It is interesting that the two should come to head so easily.

“Eredain tells me you have yet to master the bow,” Elrond interrupts their contest of wills, amused by the turning of events.

“He has been focusing on teaching me how to read the land,” Estel says, breaking his glare with Legolas to turn his attention back to Elrond. “I will master the bow, in time.”

“Legolas is a master bowman,” Elladan chimes in and Legolas' head whips to focus his glare at the twin. If it wasn't for Elrohir between the two, Elladan would have been hit solidly under the table and Elladan knew it. The glint of mischief in his eye grows brighter with Legolas' annoyed expression. “He was our master, maybe he can teach Estel.”

The protests were instantaneous. 

“I don’t think--”

“I don’t have time to--”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Elrond interrupts both Elf-Prince and Man, both turning to him with incredulous looks. “The Rangers will be staying for at least a fortnight. I think that would give Legolas time to at least teach Estel the basics, yes?”

Legolas opens his mouth to protest, but Elrond tilts his head and gives the prince a look that shuts his mouth. Estel gets half a word out before Elrond gives him the same look and Estel is all but forced to nod assent, jaw working to maintain his compliance with the Elf lord’s unspoken command. “You can start in the morning then.” Elrond smiles and it takes all of Estel’s strength not to hit his head on the table repeatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> torog means ‘troll’ in Sindarin. 
> 
> This was a hard chapter for me. I rewrote it a few times and took out a scene I really wanted in here. Hopefully I won't regret it. tbh the two of them were just determined not to like each other, even though I didn't even think they would be like this lol.


	4. The Gathering Of The Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your wonderful comments have been an absolute joy to read! I'm so thrilled that you guys like this story XD

“Was I too cruel asking Legolas to train the young Estel?” Elrond questions when he feels the presence of another enter his study. "I fear I've put them in a difficult position."

“I think you may be having more fun with this than you should,” Glorfindel answers as he approaches Elrond at the balcony, amusement tinting his tone. "They hold quite the animosity toward each other.”

“Animosity is just another word for passion, do you not think?” Elrond says, a smile lingering on his face at the memory of the boys’ expressions as they faced off at the dinner table. “I have not seen Legolas that inflamed for quite the while.”

“Thranduil guards his emotions well. Legolas takes after his father, in that regard,” Glorfindel takes a place at Elrond’s side to look over the valley. “Though I do remember a time when he was soft and sweet, like his mother.”

“Ah, those times are long past,” Elrond laughs, remembering his visits to the Greenwood and the shy little Elfling that clung to his father's robes. “The Legolas of old was such a curious thing. It was all Thranduil to do to keep Legolas from climbing to the top of the tallest trees even as a babe. Nature sings to him like no other.” 

“His connection to the root of the Earth is impressive," Glorfindel comments. "I am glad that he has come here to Imladris where he can be free of his father's sheltering and constant doting. His soul craving the wandering path. A very unusual trait for an Elf.”

“Yes, but this path is one his very own father has put him on,” Elrond’s expression falls. “It may be time to visit the Mirkwood once again. I fear that Thranduil is has Seen something beyond my own. With the Necromancer only retreated I sense that there are puzzle pieces yet to be found.”

“Thranduil does not let himself See,” Glorfindel frowns at this revelation. “His line has always been more connected to the present than any other. Seeing the future has never been a strong point for him and so he has always declined to look.”

“I wonder if this has come to him unbidden, like many other things in this age,” Elrond sighs. “No matter how he has come by his visions and even if they are not, I have much to discuss with the Elf-King.”

Glorfindel chuckles. "He will be surprised to see you so soon after your last visit. He has never been as welcoming to you as others."

"He quite positively shooed me out the last time," Elrond huffs in annoyance. "Granted he was readying for war. But it would have been nice not to be told how lacklustre my armour is."

"He has always been the most vain of us," Glorfindel says in a humoured tone. The extensiveness of King Thranduil's wardrobe was common knowledge. Though why one who never left their home would need so many outfits was beyond the comprehension of his kin. “When shall you leave?”

“When Estel is safely back in the Wilds.” Elrond turns away from the balcony. "Let us hope that Thranduil's visions are not a matter of concern."

***

Estel has never hated anyone in his life. Sure, Lindr could be an overbearing mother hen, and the twins are mischievous to a fault, but he has never hated them. Even Elrond, who could be quite autocratic at times and kept his lineage a secret, has never really produced much more than a low level of anger from the young Ranger. But Legolas…

Estel _hates_ Legolas.

His mornings are spent with the elven Prince tyrannically correcting his posture. Estel doesn't even touch an arrow. Instead he stands for three hours while Legolas lectures him about holding the correct stance even in motion, though every time Estel even twitches Legolas hits him with the feather side of an arrow. The twins watch with interest and mirth, laughing at Estel every time Legolas scolds him. He takes pleasure that Legolas also yells at them for making too much noise and they vanish an hour into his hell after Legolas shoots at the air just past Elrohir's ear. 

He fills with ire as the days pass, each much like the last and for the first time he longs for the Wilds or at least a place where golden haired _glamog_ does not exist. 

The one golden light in all of this is Arwen, who comes to watch him but does not giggle at his mistakes like the twins do. "He's a _graug_ ," Estel moans to her when Legolas is out of earshot. "I don't think I can live through this for much longer."

"Legolas isn't that bad," Arwen laughs when he looks at her in despair. "He's a strict teacher, but Legolas is the best. You are lucky to have him as a mentor."

"I think we will have to agree to disagree on this, my Lady," Estel says with much anguish in his voice and she amusingly agrees to teach him the healing arts as a compensation for the hell he endures in the mornings.

It is surprising how easy she is to get along with and Estel finds himself falling more and more in love with her, despite the warnings of her brothers. "Don't fall too hard, Estel! Or Ada might have to cut off your head, like her other suitors," the twins say with a straight face and Estel is alarmed for a moment, before he shakes his head. 

"Lord Elrond would not cut off my head, do not be so dramatic."

"There is no falsehood in our speech, dear Estel," Elrohir says, though he breaks into a smile after a second of Estel's deadpan expression. "No, but really, you can't fall in love with her."

"Why?" Estel questions, a bit curious. The twins tease as usual but they do not hinder the relationship he has with Arwen, only ever cautioning him of too much familiarity. He feels as if he is getting mixed signals from them. He knows that his growing affection for Arwen cannot be returned but he wonders if the twins would approve should he ever try to court her. "Is it because she is your sister?"

"No, because Arwen already belongs--"

"My lords, dinner is being served," the three turn to Lindr, who shows up out of nowhere to interrupt Elladan's revelation and before he can ask Elladan to continue, Estel is shuffled along to the dining hall 

And four days passes much like this, where Estel grows fonder of Arwen and much less of Legolas. 

On the fifth day of Legolas' training, Estel snaps. "Enough! Can't we just shoot things? You're supposed to be teaching me archery, not how to stand still!" 

Legolas stops in mid speech--something about being able to keep one's head even in the heat of battle and Estel is sure he's memorized these from a book--and raises an eyebrow at the Ranger. He tilts his head to the side and Estel resists the urge to squirm under his icy gaze. 

A smirk appears on the Elf-Prince's face. "Fine." He draws an arrow from the quiver on his back and hands it to Estel, who looks at him in shock. He didn't actually believe that Legolas would take his request seriously. "Do you see that apple there?" Estel looks to where the Elf points. The fruit dangles from a branch near the archery targets, lush red and ripe for the picking. Estel nods. "I would have you bring it to the ground with one shot. Amidst distractions," he adds when Estel's expression turns cocky. 

Despite the running jokes of his incompetence, he has trained with the bow, if only briefly as he grew. His preference is more steal than arrow. It's just not his best weapon and he does not hold it with the efficiency of a trained warrior, but he has learned how to hit a target, even among distraction. He trained with the twins, after all. "As you wish, my Lord," he says with a smirk and a small bow, notching the arrow. 

Legolas snorts and looks to the twins to jeer and yell, knowing well how to distract. But Estel is used to their antics and easily ignores them has he pulls back the string of his bow. Legolas stands close and he expects a jab the the side by the Elf so he readies himself for it. 

But just as he is about to let loose the arrow, Legolas unexpectedly leans forward, lips hovering hot near Estel's ear. A shudder runs up his spine, bringing an unknown feeling with it. In a low voice, rough and alluring, Legolas whispers " _Aragorn_." 

The shot goes wild and Estel stumbles away from Legolas, face red, clutching his ear as if he'd been burnt. Legolas still stands in the position he had used to deliver his horrid distraction, slightly bent, head tilted up. Estel's breath hitches when the prince's eyes meet his, blue dancing with amusement and satisfaction. A halo forms around his head as the morning sun lights the Elf from behind and Estel's mind can't help but think that Legolas is stunningly attractive when he's not yelling at him. 

And then the prince is straightening and turning away, breaking the illusion. "That's unfair!" Estel yells at his back, but Legolas has already drawn another arrow for him to be whipped with.

"Back into position!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glamog = orc  
> graug = demon
> 
> This was another hard chapter for me since I want my muses to go one way, and they end up taking a turn up another alley and I can't seem to stop them XD I rewrote that last scene so many times! I finally settled on recreating a scene from one of my favourite movies of all time. Can you guess which one?
> 
> Next week I start work again so I can’t write as often as I do now, but hopefully I’ll still be able to kick out updates fast like I have been, but can’t promise with vacation ending D: anyway I've been ranting about the Hobbit on twitter if u all wanna follow me there @4everonvacation and squee with me as I watch all the interviews ever lol. also i tend to yell about this fanfic a lot. mostly 'damn muses not loving each other!' XD
> 
> Thanks again for all your lovely comments!


	5. Over Hill And Under Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, and work starts again XD Tho I’ll try and update at least once a week! Enjoy the next chapter!

_“This is Tauriel,” Thranduil introduced the young She-Elf to his son. “Her parents were killed in an Orc raid and I have decided to take her in as my ward. You are to train her and be responsible of her well-being.” The Elf-King’s eyes held a question that Legolas had no other answer to but “Yes, Ada.”_

_At first, Legolas resented the Elfling his father had shoved onto him, but as the years went by, they became inseparable. Legolas had never had a best friend until Tauriel, someone to talk to when his father’s overbearing became too much. He wonders now if it had been by his father’s design. A playmate for a Prince. Thranduil does nothing without reason._

_Tauriel was a fierce warrior, with compassion in her blade and heart. A Silvan Elf worthy to associate with the Royal family of Mirkwood. Thranduil had even made her Captain of the Guard, outranked only by the Prince himself. But then, when Legolas was finished grooming her to be an image of himself, a proud Elf with unmatched skill among her colleagues, Thranduil tried to throw her out. It angered Legolas. Had he not done exactly what his father had wanted? She was worthy to be Thranduil’s ward. Just as worthy as Legolas._

_But no, Thranduil thought he was too attached. Maybe in love. So he tried to rend them apart. Except Legolas wasn't a young Elfling who would only do his father’s will. They were a lot alike in that aspect, overly protective to a fault. While Legolas tried to protect Tauriel from the Dwarf and his father, Thranduil had tried to protect him from love itself._

***

"Legolas." The Elf-Prince turned from his task of sharpening his knives to see Arwen standing at his door.

"My Lady," he inclines his head, standing from his work bench. He is dressed in a light tunic and trousers, so very different from his usual garb that Arwen can’t help but smile. He looks like an Elfling dressed as such. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can I not just come and see a friend?" Arwen's eyes dance. "Must I have a reason to see you?"

Legolas blinks slowly in an effort not to roll his eyes. Arwen finds the action amusing. "Of course not," he beckons her to sit and only joins her when she has made herself comfortable on the stool next to the table where his knives are laid carefully down. "But you must have a topic that you wish to engage me on?"

"Always straight to the point," Arwen sighs over-dramatically, a bit put out when she doesn't get more than a raised eyebrow from the other Elf. “You must learn how to relish conversation.”

"Being direct is a good trait to have," Legolas says. “Leaves no room for misunderstanding.”

"Maybe so, but sometimes it is good to have flexibility in life, do you not think so?"

"My father would disagree."

"But you are not your father."

"His wisdom is still wise."

"If that were true, you would not be here."

"Arwen," Legolas says exasperated. "Out with your concern already. I tire of these word games."

Arwen laughs. "Your patience has waned much in our time apart." 

"Patience is hard to maintain when living in such close quarters to the twins," Legolas snorts. "I fear the Valar have put them in the world to drive me insane. I do not remember them this mischievous a hundred years ago."

"I fear that all this is for our Ada and they have naught the heart to turn it off," Arwen's expression fills with a keen sadness that Legolas is all too familiar seeing on her face and Legolas regrets speaking of such. The twins are much changed from the reckless, destruction prone Elflings they had been when they had first come to his woods, but a loss such as theirs could never truly be erased. "But enough about them. Tell me, do you not think you are being too cruel with the Ranger?"

It takes a moment for Legolas’ mind to catch up with the abrupt change in topic. "Cruel?" Legolas barks out a surprised laugh. "I did not know your affection for the Man was this profound." Legolas' lips turn up as Arwen's cheeks flush. "If he has captured your attention as such you need only say-"

"No," Arwen shakes her head. "His path and mine will be better walked as friends."

Legolas' tone softens. "I speak truly, Arwen. Do not forsake your feelings for a bit of parchment or another's happiness."

Arwen smiles at his concern, hand lifting to run through Legolas' golden hair. "You are a gentle soul, Legolas Thranduilion. One day you will also find happiness."

He covers her hand with his, bringing it to his mouth to place a kiss to her knuckles. Long has she been a most trusted friend. "And you, yours." Her hand falls away, but the calm atmosphere around them doesn't. "I will strive to be less strict with the Man but I cannot promise anything. He is still a child, even among his own race and quick to temper."

"Only around you, it seems," Arwen giggles. "Even the twins don't seem to rile him up like you do."

"He has a strong dislike of me, though I honestly do not understand where it comes from."

"You have never met yourself," Arwen explains, her voice full of merriment. "You are not the soft of Rivendell Elf that he is used to."

"And yet he gravitates to you, my Lady," Legolas says with a twinkle in his eye and she hits him in the shoulder in mock anger.

***

"Gather your gear and follow me," Legolas commands, shooing the twins away from the training grounds with a gesture. It would do no good to them if they followed. Thought Legolas has a sinking suspicion they would try anyway. "Hurry."

"What?" The Man blinks but Legolas is putting on his own gear and strapping on his quiver and bow. Estel hurries to follow suit. "Where are we going?" 

"Away from here." It takes Legolas mere moments to finish and Estel more than a few. By the time Estel is ready, Legolas is standing at the treeline beyond the archery targets, looking up at the trees. The golden haired Elf turns to him, eyes scrutinizing every inch of him before nodding. "Come," he says as he vanishes into the forest with naught a noise.

'Elves' Estel grumbles in his mind even as he falls in step behind the other. 

When he was younger Elladan and Elrohir would take him out into these forests to find the apple trees spread about them. They taught him how to judge a branch's strength, how to swing from vines, read the leaves and fruit, to tell ripe from disease. 

Legolas is nothing like them. 

The twins are clumsy oafs comparatively to the way Legolas moves through the forest. It is like the trees themselves moved apart for him, bend to make his way easier, bow in reverence to his grace. 

He hates how much he admires these skills. Legolas is talented, this is a truth he cannot deny. But what is talent when the bearer is all but rotten at the core? 

They travel through the undergrowth, Estel's bumbling and the loud sounds of animals around them the only noises they can hear. They hike for another half an hour before stopping at a wide open space Estel remembers running around with his mother in. His heart squeezes within his chest.

"We stop here," Legolas says, breaking their silence. He beckons Estel closer, pointing to the far side of the clearing they stopped in. “Do you see those trees there?” Estel nods. They are the same kind of apple trees near the targets back at the training grounds, filled with fruit ripe for picking. “Good. We will be using them for target.”

Estel frowns. “But…” He does not finish, watching as Legolas pulls back his bow, aiming carefully. The fruit are much farther away than the ones at the practice area, twice the distance. He was not sure that an arrow even shot by the firstborn of the world could get that far. “Are you sure that’s…” 

He watches as the arrow sails through the air, sure and true. An apple falls to the ground on the other side of the clearing. Two more fall in succession. 

“How do you do that?” Estel questions with wide eyes, reluctant admiration shining in them as he watches another far off fruit becomes a victim of Legolas’ arrows. 

“Practice,” Legolas shrugs, motioning to Estel. “Now, you try.”

Estel shakes his head. “You’ve already seen me fail, do you wish to watch me make a fool of myself again?”

“That was to teach you that you still needed improvement,” Legolas snorts. “This is a different lesson. Draw your bow.”

Estel hesitates for a second longer but eventually does what Legolas asks. He aims for the apple but then shakes his head and lowers his arms. “I cannot do this, I am but a Man without the keen sight of the Elven people.” 

“Listen to what I say and you will always aim true,” Legolas insists. “Draw your bow but do not loosen your arrow.”

Estel sighs and does as he is asked. “I still do not think I can hit something that far away. I can barely see it.”

“You don’t have to see it,” Legolas says. “You know it in your mind. Think of where it is in relation to yourself. The angle of your arrow and the breeze against your face. These are all the factors you must consider, not how far it is.” Instead of whipping Estel’s limbs with his arrow, he takes a more physical approach, moving Estel’s limbs with purpose. Nimble hands rough with callouses force Estel into the right position, each touch leaving behind a searing warmth. When Legolas has moved away, Estel feels different, his stance more sure than it had ever been before. “Now, let go.”

The arrow flies through the air and Estel watches as it pierces the apple meters away. “I did it!” He exclaims, turning to Legolas with a wide smile. “Did you see? I did it!”

“Yes you did it once, but can you do it again?” Legolas raises his eyebrows, but there’s a slight quirk at his lips that Estel takes to mean that he is impressed. “Draw your bow.”

The morning passes quickly with more failures than success but Estel finally feels like he’s learned something instead of being patronized and he thinks that maybe Legolas isn't as bad as he seemed. Or, at least, there was a different side to this Elf than he previously thought existed.

When they get back, Arwen is waiting at the training ground for them with a wide smile. “I see you had fun.” She eyes the sack of fruit they have brought back, all sporting little holes in them. 

“I shall take this to Lindir,” Legolas offers a farewell to them both before leaving to find Elrond’s steward.

“Did you enjoy your lesson this morning?” Arwen asks when Estel’s gaze lingers to where Legolas has disappeared and the Man jolts from whatever he was thinking to cast her a wide smile. 

“It will not be as enjoyable as your company, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken archery for naught more than a year and that was an age ago when I was still but a Elfling soooooooooo, yeah idk what I’m talking about but I would think that Elves would have a different way of shooting targets...right? Right. We’re just going to go with that. *cringes in a corner* 
> 
> Once again, thank you guys so much for all your comments! It’s really been the push that I need to keep on writing! Also watching every appendices ever has helped me brainstorm a lot too XD I hope you’ll continue to like and support this story! 
> 
> Legolas and Arwen’s relationship inspired by this: <https://33.media.tumblr.com/471e4e6c3b02c8c3cea0b30f7b1755ef/tumblr_mhgh8ck1K61rqg00io7_r1_250.gif>


	6. Inside Information

The first week of his torture finishes and his last week starts with mornings more tolerable now that Legolas isn't trying to bite off his head every time he does something wrong. Though Estel still thinks his heart is made of a glacier from Helcaraxe, he is less likely to whip Estel with his arrows than before. 

That does not mean they don't get into spectacular fights that leave Estel wanting to bash the other over the head with the hilt of his knife. He has had a lifetime of dealing with the twins' mischief but none of that hard won patience can be found when dealing with Legolas when he is unmovable. 

"It is like talking to a wall of ice," he fumes to the twins when they catch him leaving the training grounds in a huff. It is a rare day that Arwen cannot teach him the healing arts and they giggle under their hands as they proceed to help him work out his frustration by futilely trying to best them at sword fighting. 

“You just have to ignore all the iciness of his demeanour and focus on the good things,” Elladan says, parrying a blow to his side and returning one just the same. “Like how his hair shines in the sun like golden strands of silk. Or how his skin is smooth and soft like a baby's arse.”

“Or the way his eyes are a piercing sapphire that shines like the stars,” Elrohir grins from the sidelines, watching the two spar. “Or how his voice rolls like the steadiest streams.”

“What do you mean rolls?” Estel barely blocks a jab at his midsection. “He barely speaks except to berate me and that sounds more like a warg’s scream!”

“You have yet to perfect the skill of speaking to one of his line,” Elladan smirks when he manages to graze the arm of Estel’s armour with his blunted training sword. “The Mirkwood Royal family loves to be petted and praised. They are, after all, a line of very attractive Elves. King Thranduil is a sight to behold, on his throne of antler horn, isn't he Elrohir?”

"Very attractive indeed. And he knows it. Flaunts it. His wardrobe is more extensive than the Lady Galadriel's," Elrohir muses. "It is quite the shame that Legolas does not share his father's love of fashion. He would look stunning in the long flowing robes Thranduil favours," Elrohir swoons at his own fantasy. "But no matter, the Elf-Prince is attractive in his own rights."

“Only attractive in body, but not in mind or spirit,” Estel says, his sword clashing loudly with Elladan’s. “Speaking to him is like asking a mountain to move.”

“Well, mountains can move, my dearest Estel,” Elrohir laughs as Elladan trips Estel and lands the Man on his rear, sword at his neck. “Have you ever heard of storm giants?”

Estel bats Elladan’s sword away with his own, struggling to his feet. “Don’t be smart, Elrohir, you know what I mean.”

“You know, he used to be the same with us,” Elladan smiles as he tosses his sword to Elrohir. "All stony silence and bad behaviour. Under all of that, he's deeply passionate and loyal to a fault. You just have to get him to open up."

"I've tried." Estel raises his sword in salute to his new sparing partner before dropping down into a better attack position. "He either doesn't answer me or he tells me to continue to train and stop asking stupid questions."

"Then stop asking stupid questions." Elrohir easily sidesteps his lunge.

"I'm not asking him stupid questions!"

"Then what are you asking him?"

"About archery and...things. You know, the stuff he's supposed to be teaching me?" Elrohir gets under his guard and does a clever little twist that has Estel's sword flying out of his hand. "What else should I ask him?"

"About himself, silly Estel!" Elladan laughs as Estel scurries to grab his lost sword. "Who wants to talk about training all the time?" 

"What if I don't want to know about him?" Estel parties a blow from Elrohir. "I have no interest in some far off prince that I'll never see again."

"What do you mean? You'll see lots of him." Elrohir disarms Estel once more, but this time he is able to get the Man with a solid hit, signalling the end of their round. "Legolas has left his home. He will be stationed here for a bit, I think, unless something else comes in the way."

"What?" Estel grabs his sword from the ground with a groan of displeasure. "Will I ever be free of this golden mountain troll?"

The twins laugh at the description of their dearest friend even as Elladan switches with Elrohir again for more sparing. 

Estel allows himself to think on their words even as he parts from them later in the day. If Legolas will indeed be part of his life for the time being, he should try to make peace of some sort. Heaven forbid if Elrond thought they still weren't getting along, he might end up chaining him together with the icy Elf-Prince for another week. That wouldn't do at all. 

If anything, the twins speak truth about Legolas' attractiveness. He tries not to see it usually, but it's hard not to notice how devastatingly beautiful the Mirkwood Prince is.

Not as beautiful as Arwen...but just as captivating to the eye. He's graceful and enchanting despite his penchant to be less expressive than his Rivendell kin. At least, he can be when talking to Elrond or Lindir or anyone else who isn't Estel. Though despite his harsher attitude toward Estel, there is a pull that Legolas has on him that the Man does not want to admit aloud or even privately to himself. 

“Is there something on my face?” Legolas questions without looking up and Estel starts out of his thoughts, looking away with a high blush on his cheeks. "You have a habit of staring that may get you in trouble one day." 

“Sorry…” he mumbles in annoyance, resuming the task of cleaning the arrows they had used to bring down the fruit in this morning’s training. His aim is getting better, he can hit things both far and near with a precision he didn’t have before. All thanks to this aloof Elf beside him. He doesn't mean to stare, but he is still trying to figure out what the twins see in Legolas that he does not. There is definitely more in his gaze and face than sharp anger and lofty arrogance. There is a sureness and confidence in his ability that is rare even among his kind. “I just...who taught you to shoot?”

Legolas pauses from his own washing, looking up to regard Estel with a tilt of his head before answering. “My father,” he responds before resuming his duty.

“Is your father better at archery than you?”

“No, he’s not.” 

Estel waits for elaboration, but gets none. He stifles the urge to sigh. Conversation with this Elf is painful. He wonders how the twins manage it with their love of chatter and noise. “Why do you speak to me in the Common tongue, and not Elvish like the others?” He asks instead. It bothers him immensely. The elves of Rivendell always spoke to him in Elvish, even the Rangers spoke in hushed Sindarin and rarely the tongue of Westeron unless absolutely needed. 

“The Common tongue is easier to berate you with,” is Legolas’ answer and Estel feels his hackles rise. " And because you are even less skilled in it than archery."

“I speak Westeron perfectly!” Estel protests this loudly. 

“If that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Legolas shrugs, picking up his arrows and setting them into his quiver. “Hurry and finish or you will be late for your lessons with the Lady Arwen.”

“But...wait a second--” The other Elf is walking away, and Estel hastily grabs his arrows and shakes the excess water off them. “Legolas!”

The prince pauses and looks back at him, eyebrow raised. Estel frowns at the look before realizing what he had called the Elf. This is the first time he has used the other’s name out loud. It’s been only ‘Greenleaf’ or ‘Elf’ since their first meeting. “You’re still a _graug_ ,” Estel fumes at his own slip, marching past Legolas toward the direction of the main house. He pretends to not see the amused turn of Legolas’ lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graug = demon
> 
> Another chapter woot! So I think my schedule will allow updates on Fridays, give or take a day or two depending on how busy I end up being during the week. Hopefully you guys don't mind it XD Thanks again for all your comments and for reading as well!


	7. Fire And Water

Legolas watches the Man run beside him, falling apples with his arrows almost as often as Legolas himself. They started this training yesterday, hitting stationary targets while moving. He must admit that the Man was a fast learner. Despite Legolas’ unwillingness when they had first started, he’s begun to enjoy their mornings together. He loves archery and teaching the craft is not an troublesome thing. Long has he been sought after as a teacher but his time is usually taken by border patrol or his courtly duties.

He still does not understand why his father had sent him after this boy. His first assessment of Estel had been of a pubescent Man child. Which in many ways, has held true. Estel is short tempered and moody, but he also carries the eagerness and wonder of the young. He learns quickly, works hard despite having Legolas griping at him at every turn. He does not disobey his orders despite his obvious dislike. Legolas would say it was a pleasant experience had he not been coerced into this training. 

He has learned many things about Estel, though. Never wavering, focused, devoted. Good traits for Men. He wonders if this will make Estel a great Man one day as his father foretells. He’ll grow to be a good one at least. He shows much of the same traits as Bard, the ferry boatman turned king. 

The twins are all but in love with him. He thinks that Arwen is wrong when she says they are mischievous for their father. Though it is true that they had plastered on a façade of compliance and good humour for their direct kin, their affection for this boy is what is healing their souls. It is for his smile that they have designed themselves as fools. 

Legolas thinks that this is better than what they had become in the wake of their devastating loss. 

Since that first day of training in the woods, Estel’s attitude toward Legolas has turned from badly disguised indignation to curiosity. He wonders if the twins are the reason for his constant queries. “Where did you learn how to wield a sword?“ “Is your father really the last Elf-King?” “Tell me of the Woodland Realm. Is it far?”

“Is there a purpose to your interrogation?” Legolas finally breaks after only two days. He can’t remember a time when he had been pestered so much. Training is more or less done now and they were wandering the paths they had just run through in order to pick up their arrows and fruit for dinner.

The Man smiles at Legolas’ annoyance. “Do you find them vexing?” 

“Just overly so.”

“Why?”

Legolas resists the urge to throw himself into a tree. “Why do you feel the need to ask? We are not friends, Ranger.”

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Estel questions as he swoops down to grab another arrow even as Legolas looks at the Man with wide eyes filled with disbelief at his statement. “I know we didn’t get along at first, but I don’t think we have a reason not to now. Besides, I have enjoyed our lessons as of late, as much as I have enjoyed the absence of the feathers of your arrows on my skin.” He meets Legolas’ gaze with his own, amusement glittering in it.

“You want to be friends with me.” Legolas says, though the statement is more of a question. He doesn’t understand where this change of heart is coming from. Only a few days ago, the Ranger had been all but ready to pull out his hair. He will never understand the fickle nature of Men.

“Let’s not rush it,” Estel says dryly with a chuckle, but then shrugs. “The twins told me that you’ll be around for a while and although I am not in permanent residence in Rivendell, I will be here at least once every turning of the moon. Lord Elrond would be greatly annoyed if we were at odds for the entirety of your stay.” 

“Lord Elrond needs to learn how to mind his own business,” Legolas huffs. He understands now his father’s keen distaste for the other Elven Lord now more than ever.

“Well?” Estel looks up, meeting his gaze once again. Legolas finds himself strangely entranced by his grey eyes. “Shall we start over?”

Legolas ponders this for a moment before sighing. “As long as you do not stare so blatantly. It is your most unappealing trait.” 

Estel’s face scrunches up. “I do not stare!”

“You do.”

“No, I do not.”

“Yes, you do.” 

“Well if I do, it’s probably because of your hair.”

Legolas blinks at this revelation. “My hair?”

“Yes. None of the Rivendell Elves have golden hair. Not like yours,” the excuse is flimsy, but there is a note of truth in the young Ranger’s voice. 

“Golden hair is a rare trait even among Elves,” Legolas says, considering. He’s never thought of his hair in any sort of way except that it was sometimes a bother to maintain. “My kin are of the Royal lines of Doriath, blessed with this trait. The Silvan Elves that live in the woods of my home also do not possess golden hair, but there many that reside in the Golden Wood have hair that shine in the sun.”

It is the most he has ever spoken to the Ranger except for the times he is instructing or berating and Estel looks pleased with himself over this. Legolas finds himself once again trying to keep from rolling his eyes. Instead, he scowls. “It would be foolish of you to think that I will answer all your questions with such depth, Ranger.”

“I would not dare presume,” Estel says, his tone humble but his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Legolas allows a few more questions about his homeland before directing them back home for Estel’s healing training. Legolas thinks that maybe they can, at least, tolerate each other’s presence. Maybe in time they could be friends.

***

The next morning they do not go out into the forest, but stay at the training grounds. He’s enlisted the help of his Rivendell comrades to set up the targets on rope hanging from branches. The wind is just strong enough today to have them twist erratically and Estel looks acceptably horrified by his next lesson. 

“You don’t mean for me to…?” He trails off, aghast.

Legolas enjoys his suffering for a moment longer, a revenge of sorts for the battering of questions the Man made him suffer through, before motioning the young Ranger over to where he wanted him. 

It takes an hour before Estel is throwing his bow down in frustration. “This is impossible!”

“No, it is not,” Legolas says, for some reason more patient today than he has been in all of their training. He also had problems in this stage of his training, his father’s stinging laughs at his failures still ring in his ears even though they were of amusement more than mockery at his inability. 

“Here.” He picks up Estel’s bow, handing it to the Man. “Your stance once more.” Estel sighs heavily but does as he is told. This time he takes position behind the Ranger, feeling the other stiffen as he bodily keeps the boy in place. It’s the one thing that Estel can’t seem to keep and that’s a steady pose. He’s long limbed, still growing, still fidgeting when told to stay still. He had the exact same problem with Tauriel and only with a heavy hand did he ever get her to finally learn patience. He takes no notice of Estel’s discomfort with his closeness. Instead he adjusts Estel into what could pass as acceptable. “Aim,” he says in a low voice, no need to shout when Estel’s ear is close. “Steady your arms.”

“Do you have to be so close?” Estel wiggles against him, the warmth of his body a bit unsettling in the rays of the morning sun. 

“If you would just keep still,” Legolas says and Estel’s spine stiffens. “Better.” There is a scant few centimetres between them and though Legolas cannot see his face, he can see the dark scarlet of a blush settling on Estel’s neck. He has never encountered a being as easy to fluster into rage or embarrassment and he finds it weirdly fascinating. He leans closer to see what reaction he can get, feeling a shiver run up Estel’s back as the other squirms. Moving away, makes the other relax just a fraction. He wants to play with this like an Elfling but blinks away the feeling.

They are training, not finding what points to push to make the Man child jump. “Now, wait.”

“For how long?” 

“For as long as it takes.” Estel makes a noise of dissatisfaction and Legolas sighs as he elaborates. “Watch the target, learn the movements.”

“It is but a board in the wind, it has no discernible movements,” Estel bites back. “How do I learn of something that only knows chaos?”

“Even in chaos, there is order,” Legolas says. “Watch. Count your breaths. And when you are ready, let the arrow fly.”

Estel harrumphs, but tries to do as he is told. He watches and waits, patience coming with each calming breath. Estel’s body relaxes bit by bit, bow moving slightly as it follows the target’s turbulent motions. He feels the moment Estel has recognised a pattern. “Now,” he says and Estel lets go.

He misses.

Estel huffs out in annoyance, backing away from Legolas. A cold follows the Ranger’s wake and Legolas tries not to miss his warmth. “I almost had it too!”

“Oh?” Legolas questions, eyebrow raised. “Let’s see you ‘almost’ have it again then.”

The challenge is made and Legolas knows that if there is anything to make Estel motivated, it is a challenge. 

As the morning wears on Estel only hits the target on the red once, though the amount of times Legolas has invaded the Man’s personal space is too many to count and he fears he has found this type of teasing all too addicting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear they’ll fall in love and here’s the bottom line, the twin’s trio will be down to two…sooner or later...probably later. like...way later. i told you this is slow build like an ent omg
> 
> but soon things will happen XD


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, this is supposed to be part of chapter 7, but then the characters really hated the second part of chapter 7 so they decided to re-write the whole thing haha. The original was way wayyyyy more angsty, but they wanted to be happy for a bit more before I turn their lives into hell lol.

Estel is annoyed when he finds the twins waiting for him on the benches near the training grounds. His body is feeling weird with Legolas’ more physical lesson that morning, still burning slightly with the memory of the other pressed against it. 

“You two looked comfortable on the training field today,” Elladan smirks and Estel rolls his eyes. 

“It was training, Elladan,” Estel says, throwing his things into a corner to be cared for later. He does not want to think about it, his face still ridiculously red from Legolas’ teasing. 

“If that’s what you want to call it,” the twins laugh together even as Estel glares at them. “Legolas has learned the best way to make you stutter.”

“If stutter you mean torture,” Estel huffs with exasperation. Being that close to anyone would make a person uncomfortable, right? “What are you guys doing here anyway? Where is Arwen?”

“Ada needed her for something today so we’re going to be your healing teachers today,” Elrohir says and Estel raises an eyebrow at them. “What? You don’t think we know how to heal people?”

“I think you’re more likely to kill someone on accident.” A shadow falls over the twin's faces simultaneously, but Estel misses it as he takes off his training gear. “What did Arwen need to talk to your father for? Is there trouble?” The silence from them causes Estel to look up, but the twins have practised the art of covering their emotions for too many centuries and there are smiles already plastered on their faces before their foster brother can think anything is wrong with his words.

“Ada’s going to Mirkwood,” Elrohir finds his voice first. “He’s asking Arwen to go with him.”

"What?" Estel's expression flares to life. "Arwen is leaving? When?"

Elrohir laughs at the desperation in Estel's voice. "Calm yourself. She will leave after you do. She wasn't supposed to be back so soon anyway, the Lady Galadriel brought her here to see Ada for a brief visit only."

"She has a few more decades in the Golden Woods before she can stay in Rivendell more permanently," Elladan adds as Estel puts away his arrows. "She is Lady Galadriel's successor and has much to learn there."

"But we've only just met..." There is a note of sorrow in Estel's voice that the twins ignore as they drag him out of the training grounds and toward the healing houses.

***

The library of Imladris is quiet except for the shuffle of Legolas’ boots on the hardwood floors. Books of every type line the shelves and he runs his hands over them, looking for a particular one. Mirkwood had very few books, most stories being passed on as songs or spoken words from the elder Elves to the younger. He used to sit at his father’s feet listening to soft tales of Doriath at it’s most beautiful, of it’s tall trees and great kings of old. Thranduil’s voice always seemed to be tinged with sadness when telling these tales and never does he tell them but once, expecting his son to remember them word for word as a good prince should. And Legolas does, for the most part. Thranduil’s stories are captivating, but filled with holes that he knows are of people his king does not wish to talk about. 

The ones that have left him. 

He finds the book he’s looking for, a tome of heavy weight. It is at least a thousand years old, if not more. He feels faint traces of magic within the papers, preserving as best as it can against time. But no magic lasts forever; the pages are withered around the edges and the ink is fading to almost obscurity. He thinks that it may be time for someone to make a copy before they lose this knowledge to the ages.

He lays it out on a nearby table, nimble fingers turning each page gently as his eyes skip over the words until they stop on what he has searched for. 

_The Fall of the Kingdom of Angmar._

He knows next to nothing about it. His father refuses to even mention it and the Lords and Ladies of his court are reluctant to tell their young Prince anything of worth in fear of the King’s wrath. All he knows is that his mother died there. And if his father would not tell him, he would find out for himself.

_And the Lord of the Nazgûl founded a terrible kingdom in the lands far north of the Misty Mountains and became known as the Witch-King of Angmar and he waged war against the free peoples of Middle-Earth...._

***

It is only when the light of the library wanes that he thinks of looking up from his readings and he is surprised to find he is not alone. 

Estel sits quietly in a corner, a place that seems specially set aside for him from the look of it. There is parchment littering the desk along with stacks of books Legolas assumes is the studies that Elrond has given the boy to learn. 

The Man does not see that Legolas has noticed him and is jotting down something from his own book of knowledge. There's a look of concentration that Legolas is highly familiar with after all these days spent with the young Ranger. It is one of the traits he likes about Estel. His ability to focus on a task is rivalled by none. 

Legolas takes the time to observe him in a way he has not indulged. Before, he had no need to know more than the fact that this was Elrond's ward. But since their training relationship has turned for the better, he has changed his opinion of the Man from just a nuisance that Elrond has shoved onto him to a curiosity. 

Estel bites at his lower lip, stormy grey eyes following fingers as they trail down the page. His hair is shaggy, falling just past his ears. A good length for his age, Legolas thinks, remembering the Men he has encountered in Dale and Laketown. He has learned very little of the customs and history of Men, but his father had been tolerable of some of them. The line of Lords who ruled over the city-state of Dale had cultivated a good relationship with his father and over the years a few Rangers were sent from Eriador to Thranduil as messengers from Rivendell when Lord Elrond could not come himself. His father had expressed his dislike of this method of communication to Legolas at length though he seemed to take audience with the Rangers nonetheless.

Legolas wonders what Arwen sees in this boy. She confesses no attraction toward the young Man, but Legolas sees the way Estel looks at Arwen. It may be that Arwen does not hold affection toward Estel, but Estel obviously does. It is hard not to love Arwen, she has the grace and beauty of her lineage as well as the compassion and wisdom of her sire. 

Estel, however, is still but a babe. He is lanky in build, still growing into his parts, the beginnings of a beard setting in, patchy and not yet defined. Maybe in time, the boy will grow to be a handsome lad. But he may also not. Time would tell, as it always has. 

Estel shifts in his seat, looking up at that moment to see Legolas staring. Their eyes meet and Legolas blinks first, embarrassed that he had been so absorbed in his reading that he had not heard the Man’s entrance. Estel turns a shade of pink as he looks down at his papers. "Sorry, did I disturb you?"

"Not at all," Legolas says smoothly, closing his book. He has read all he needs for now. 

Estel looks up again and frowns. "You don't have to leave," he says but then when Legolas' eyebrow raises he adds "I mean, I can leave if I'm distracting you." 

"I'm done," Legolas responds instead of trying to suss out what Estel is saying. He stands and stretches, hearing a few joints crack from prolonged sitting. He gazes over to Estel's desk, head tilting. "What are you studying?" 

Estel turns a deeper shade of red and the book the boy was reading slams shut. But curiously, it is out of embarrassment than anger, an emotion that Legolas has only just realized is much more entertaining to tease out of the young Ranger than his ire. 

"Nothing," Estel says but Legolas is already moving over to his desk and Estel scrambles to cover the book with parchment but fails miserably to the keen eyes of Elves. 

"A textbook on Westeron." Legolas' lips turn slightly up and Estel looks like he wants to vanish. It seems the Man took his words to heart. Estel wasn’t as bad as Legolas made him out to be, most of it was teasing than anything else. The race of Men were amusing in their reactions to things and there is very little to amuse one’s self with when you are as old as Legolas is now. 

"I'm leaving for the Wilds in a few days," Estel mumbles. "I just want to make sure I know all of the right pleasantries in the Common tongue before I treat with the peoples of Eriador."

Legolas makes a non-committal noise, though his lips turned up in a slight smirk, knowing his silence will upset the boy more than his words. Estel fidgets under Legolas’ gaze. “What were you reading about?” 

“History.” Legolas moves back to his own table, picking up the heavy book to put back where he found it. 

“It seemed interesting,” Estel says, watching as Legolas slides the book in it’s original place on a shelf. 

“It was.” Legolas responds, his head still rewriting itself with all the new information he has absorbed. All this knowledge. Everything he has learned in these past hours is overwhelming him. He knew his mother had been a brave individual but that his father…

It’s making him feel trapped being in this room. He is of half Silvan descent, his place was among nature and not among books like some of his other Elvish brethren. He does love to learn new things, but books and libraries were not of his favourite places. He glances at the window, noticing belatedly that the sun is setting. Estel is looking at him curiously. “Come,” he says to the boy, heading toward the door without a backwards glance to see if the other would follow. 

“Wh--” Estel blinks at Legolas’ retreating back. The Man hesitates for only a second before following the Elf out the doors. “Wait a se--Where are we going?” 

“Out.” 

“Out where?”

“Outside.” 

Estel places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “But it’s almost night time. We shouldn’t--”

“Are you scared of the dark, Ranger?” Legolas questions with a raised eyebrow, getting exactly the reaction he expects when Estel bristles and lets him go. “That’s what I thought. Now come, we will climb tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rearranging book timeline to fit movie timeline again woooot! God the headache the research alone for this fic is doing to me lol. I have problems keeping events in my own life on a timeline as it is XD 
> 
> So, if you don’t know, the kingdom of Angmar actually arose in TA 1300, which is lots and lots after Legolas was born movie time. 
> 
> In order to make it so that Legolas’ mother could die around Legolas’ birth, I had the kingdom of Angmar already established and end during the end of the Second Age (around the time of the Battle of Dargolad) and that the Elves came to try and defeat whatever was left of them at Gundabad, where Legolas’ mother would fall to the orcs. Later, the dwarves would come to cleanse their sacred mountain of orcs and find the jewels of lasgladan and then...well you know what they do with those jewels lol. 
> 
> Also entertaining family at my house for a month so I will strive to get out all my updates in a timely manner but it's hard to write with a mother looking over your shoulder lol so plz excuse any lateness I may have with the coming chapters. Though a lot of the next few have been partially written already so it might be faster than I think to finish them lol.


	9. Chapter 9

When Legolas said they would be climbing, he didn't think they would be climbing a cliff wall in the light of dusk. He wishes he had not taken the bait and let Legolas walk away without him, but the Elf knew exactly how to make him do as he wished. An advantage he wishes he had on Legolas as well. 

The much more spry creature easily found the cracks in the cliff and travelled with the grace of his kin whilst Estel grunted up the wall a bit more clumsily. He knows where they are going, he has been here with the twins a few times during their watch. Estel wonders belatedly if he just got roped into doing the night rotation with Legolas without warning. It would explain their full gear and equipment.

The moon had risen fully into the sky by the time they reach their destination, a small spot right at the edge of the cliff that gave it’s occupants a full view of the valley below. Any entrance and exit is easily seen from this point and he is very sure now he just got coerced into keeping the golden haired Elf company for his shift. He relays his thoughts to the Elf next to him with more bite than he means to.

Legolas takes no offence to it, shrugging. “I told the guard there was no need for anyone to come up here tonight.”

“So you volunteered me.” Estel frowns, throwing his gear down in a corner and plopping himself down on the grass. “Who would volunteer for watch duty? It’s ridiculously uneventful and dull.” 

“It is a fine thing to live in a realm of peace,” Legolas says and Estel can hear the note of sarcasm in his voice. “If only something would attack so that the young Rangers of Rivendell can have something to do.” 

Estel bristles at Legolas’ tone. “Well if you had just told me you wanted to be on watch instead of dragging me up here..." 

"I didn't drag you, you came willingly."

Estel opens his mouth to protest but Legolas is right, he hadn't said no. But what else could Estel do when the Mirkwood Prince looked as he had in the library? His manner may have been just the same as always, but his eyes were full of conflict and pain. What had the Elf read that could breed such a look?

And why did Estel care? Legolas, despite the last few days, has been nothing but the most obstinate person he’d ever met. But Estel just couldn’t leave anyone alone when they looked like that, no matter how mulish they were.

"Well if I have to be up here with you, entertain me," Estel leans back against a rock, eyes watching Legolas as the Elf prepares the lookout for the long night ahead. "Tell me of Mirkwood."

Legolas looks at the Ranger with a raised eyebrow, but Estel looks at him expectantly. After a moment, the Elf sighs. "It is green."

Estel waits for a moment, but nothing but the rustling of their gear comes forth from the dark. "That's very informative," Estel rolls his eyes. "And? The shade of green this time, if you please."

Legolas sighs, setting his things down. "The branches keep the sun from filtering down too far, the leaves teeming with animals and insects." Legolas moves to sit beside Estel, peering down at the vast expanse of Rivendell. "Ponds with the purest of water spill into our stores, nuts and berries grow thick during harvest." 

"It seems beautiful," Estel watches Legolas as he says these words. The moon reflects beautifully on Legolas’ hair, bathing the Elf in a pale light that makes him look like he shines from within. Estel resists the urge to reach out and touch. 

"It was."

"Was?"

"An evil spreads from the South," a look of disgust twists over the prince's face. "Spiders kill without prejudice."

"Is that why it is called Mirkwood now?"

"Yes. But that is a term for those outside our gates. None in the Woodland realm would call it such." 

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, watching the dancing lights of Imladris from their lofty perch. 

"Is your father a good king?" Estel asks after some time and then regrets the question when Legolas tenses next to him. "I mean, I don't want to offend or anything I just don't know any royalty so--"

"My father is a good king," Legolas interrupts Estel's apology. "But he is not a great one."

Estel blinks at the words that fall between them. They are heavy with a deeper meaning but Estel dares not pry further. He does not want to disturb the peace he has finally found with the woodland Elf. Legolas glances at him and Estel squirms under his gaze. Expecting a rebuke, he cringes when Legolas opens his mouth, but the Elf asks his own question instead. "Do you like living in Imladris?"

"I...I..." Estel, surprised by the question, stutters. "I do. It is peaceful and the inhabitants are kind to me."

Legolas makes a non-committal sound that Estel takes to mean that his answer was acceptable. "Do you like Imladris?"

"It is much too dreary a life here at the Last Homely House," Legolas' mouth upturns a bit in memories that Estel does not share. "The Greenwood is host to many parties and festivals. The night would be full of singing, not such solemn silence."

"Wood Elves like to have parties?" 

"They are especially good at it," Legolas nods. "My father finds the drunken antics of his people amusing."

Estel chuckles, imagining a forest full of Legolas' stumbling around in intoxication. "I'm sure the prince would also join in on these acts?" 

"I am serving on the high table during festivals," Legolas shrugs. "The wine flows as much there as anywhere else, if not more. But I am much too busy entertaining guests to drink with any ardour."

“It must be restricting, being a Prince,” Estel says.

“Not at all,” Legolas shakes his head. “My father is indulgent of me within reason, he does not push and I do not pull. Thus is the way of our relationship.”

Estel nods. “That seems like a good relationship to have with your father.” 

"Maybe," Legolas muses. “And you? What of your father?”

It is Estel’s turn to shrug. “I did not know my father. I was but two years of age when he fell to Orcs. I was told he was very courageous.”

Legolas delivers practised words of condolence in Elvish and Estel accepts it in kind. “The Lord Elrond is your father figure then?”

“More like a teacher than a parent. My mother sufficed for a parental role, but the twins are the ones who raised me,” Estel smiles at the thought. “I don’t remember a time where they weren’t in my life.”

“They are very attached to you,” Legolas notes. “I have known the twins for many millennia, but I have not seen them so fond of one person.” 

“Were they always so mischievous?” Estel asks.

Legolas shakes his head. “They were of a more solemn disposition earlier in life, much like Lord Elrond,” Legolas muses. “They were disciplined and devoid of much emotion when I first met them. But Elvish lives are long and attitudes change with experiences. They are of a more joyful temperament now, which is an improvement to the dour persona they had before.” 

“I can’t believe that they were anything but troublesome twin hurricanes,” Estel smiles, thinking of Elladan and Elrohir with expressions like Elrond’s. It is an ill fit. “Much like I cannot believe that you could be anything but a _torog_.”

Legolas snorts at that. “I was once carefree in my youth. But the days of gallivanting and laughing among spring blossoms are long past.” He makes a sour face at the thought.

“I can’t see you as ‘carefree’ at all,” Estel laughs. “Or laughing. Do you even know how to laugh?”

“All creatures can laugh, if given a reason to.” 

“I hope to be there when such a reason arises,” Estel chuckles, thinking about how Legolas would look when he laughs. How would he sound? Would it be a deep laugh, or a high, tinkling one, like Arwen’s? Would he through his head back or would it be so small you would barely catch it? Would Legolas hide his face behind his hand as to not give such a smile away to strangers? The vision of Legolas with a wide smile on his face as he let out a shy little chuckle gave Estel pause as a desire to see such a thing overwhelmed him. He blames it on the night and the mystifying way the moonlight reflects around the Elf. It makes Legolas mesmerising in ways he did not realize another being could be. Shaking his head, he leans back further. “You should take the first watch, since I haven’t prepared myself for a long night out. Unlike you and your kin, I need a bit of rest before such a long watch.”

“As you wish.” Estel thinks that he sees a slight smile on Legolas’ lips, indulgent and fond, but that must be just the trick of the light.

***

The night air feels cool against his skin and the height is exactly what he needs to clear his head. Not to mention the banter with the young Man helps to ease his mind off of it’s darker path. 

Estel is a much needed distraction, though it is only temporary. The Man falls easily asleep under the night sky and Legolas observes the valley below with keen eyes. There is very little happening below as the residents of Imladris fall into night’s comfortable embrace. Lights are snuffed out one by one leaving only the barest of flames as guides through darkened hallways. The moon is bright this night, illuminating the darkest corners of the valley and making it’s many waterfalls glimmer in the darkness. 

Imladris is beautiful, there is no doubt, but Legolas yearns for the forests of his home. 

He reflects on his readings as he settles in for his watch. The book had said a host from the Greenwood, against their King’s orders, had gone to Angmar to challenge it’s might, only to be slaughtered by the Orcs of Gundabad. It says nothing about why this host went willingly into the clutches of evil and Legolas could only assume that his mother had lead the rabble and his father had refused. So his father had let his mother die? But for what? What was so important in Angmar that his mother would leave her newborn to charge into battle?

These thoughts plague him and he wishes that he could go home and ask his father about what he has read. But he knows that he would not get a word from Thranduil, tight-lipped as he is about the entire situation. He needed to find someone who had been there, but had not been influenced by his father’s rage and grief. 

He had kept reading, hoping to find a link to help but there was nothing. He wonders if he should speak to Lord Elrond on the matter again. Or maybe the Lord Celeborn would know. His father detested him a little less than Lord Elrond, but only because he has heard that Lord Celeborn had once been close to his grandfather. Thranduil did not share this fondness for his wife, however. The Elf-King had no affection for the Lady Galadriel, even though Legolas found her very charming. He silently thinks it’s because his father doesn’t like that people think Galadriel’s wardrobe is better than his.

He switches with Estel around the crest of the moon for a short rest and they greet the sunrise together only hours later. Their conversation is light and comfortable and Legolas finds himself almost unable to keep back a fond tone. Estel is interesting when he’s not being incompetent. His questions are direct, but asked with genuine curiosity than a way to fill the silence. He answers what he feels like answering and Estel is happy with whatever bones he is thrown. Their watch comes to a close as they amicably gather their gear.

That is when Legolas sees it.

He drops the items in his hand, going straight for his bow. “Legolas?” Estel questions, seeing the Elf crouch, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. “What do you see?” 

“A shadow races toward us,” he says. “From the Misty Mountain paths.” 

Estel frowns. “I do not see anything.”

“You do not have Elven eyes.” 

“Next time I’ll remember to bring my Elf eyes,” Estel huffs. “What sort of shadow?”

Legolas grabs his bow and knives. “Orcs. Grab your weapons, leave the rest. We are the closest to them. They will enter Rivendell if we do not act now.” 

Estel scrambles to do as he asks as Legolas brings an Elven horn to his lips and blows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update this week! Work literally said "here have more work" and entertaining the family has been less than stellar. Not to mention writing this chapter was like pulling teeth (again XD) Come on boys, work with me here!


	10. Chapter 10

They slide down the mountain together and into the woods to the Misty Mountain paths. Estel follows as they come up to a high ridge where they can get a better look. Estel sees dust and the figures of riders coming fast from the north. There’s a large open field between them and the oncoming riders and Legolas motions for Estel to follow him as he jumps down from the ridge and onto a tree far below. 

Estel rolls his eyes at that. “Elves,” he whispers under his breath, taking an easier path down, making sure not to let Legolas out of his sight. They get to the edge of the field quickly and Legolas draws his bow. Estel can now see that there are about four dozen Wargs and their Orc riders chasing a grey clad rider and Estel recognises the markings on the Orcs armor.

The Ettenmoors.

“Your bow, Estel,” Legolas’ arrows are already flying through the air, easily felling the foremost of the Warg pack. Estel scrambles to keep up. 

“What are Ettenmoor Orcs doing here?” Estel questions as he lets his own arrows fly among Legolas’. “I thought they do not leave Mount Gram.”

“Many things are changing,” Legolas says as he pulls his twin blades out as their arrows run dry.

“We cannot hold them off by ourselves,” Estel says with a frown, pulling his sword as well. “There are too many.”

“We only need to keep them occupied until reinforcements arrive,” Legolas says as the rider drops from his horse, the beast falling from an Orc arrow to the rear legs. “Come!”

They rush forward in defence and Estel realizes that the rider is but an old man with the cargo of a halfling at his front. “Legolas!” the old man shouts, drawing his own blade and staff as he runs toward them, the halfling with a glowing blue blade looks panicked as he stumbles along with him.

Adrenaline rushes through him as the Orcs circle them with snarling teeth. “You will not win this day, Wizard,” one Orc speaks directly to the old man. “We will take you and your little halfling and torture you till you spill every one of your secrets.” 

“Not this day,” the old man says and the battle begins.

Swords clash and blood flies through the air as Estel flings himself at the nearest Warg rider. His blade bites through flesh and bones, he ignores the slight pain of a cut here and there and only focuses on his goal of taking down as many of the Orc filth as he can. 

Legolas is at his side, graceful as his kin usually are in battle, blades glinting in the morning sun as they cut into Orc after Orc. The old man in grey isn’t doing too bad either and the small halfling is strategically kept in the middle of their triangle, away from harm but easily able to get a jab in here and there because of his size. Estel would be impressed if he had the time to be so. It is hard enough trying to keep the Orcs from overwhelming them and it wouldn’t be long before they would. Estel is more skilled with a sword than bow, but he has not had enough experience to fight off fifty Orcs on Wargs, Elf trained or not. 

It’s Estel’s mistake that turns the tides for the worst. He tries to cover the Halfling as he makes to kill off one of their enemies, but he missteps--a rookie mistake--and Legolas is the one who pays for it. They disarm the Elf who cannot move within his own space without accidentally killing his own allies and one of the Orcs gets a shot at Legolas and hits him over the head with the hilt of his sword and Legolas slumps over unconscious. 

“You bastard--” Estel runs forward but is interrupted when the blare of an Elvish horn startles the crowd. 

“The reinforcements have arrived!” the old man shouts and an arrow is shot straight through one of the Orcs in front of Estel.

The Orcs scream in rage but they know with the coming battalion of guards that they have no chance of killing off their original prey. A flurry of movement happens and Estel feels adrenaline rush through him once again. He tears through as many Orcs as he can as they retreat back through the path they had come through even as other Elves come to help. 

The remaining Orcs retreat but they do not pursue, horseless as the coming guards are. They are part of the night watch, those closest to the paths as Legolas and he had been. But the battle is over and won in what seems like a blink of an eye and that’s when Estel comes to a dreadful realization.

Legolas is nowhere to be seen.

***

The dawn shines over the sleeping faces of the twins of Elrond when the echoing of trumpets. Instinct has them untangled from each other and pulling on their armor and weapons in the blink of an eye. "From the north," Elrohir says, buckling on his sword. Elladan is rushing to the doors. 

"Estel was on watch this night," Elladan's tone is full of panic that Elrohir shares. 

"He was with Legolas," Elrohir tries to comfort his brother as they run towards the stables and their horses. "He will keep him safe."

The sentiments sound empty to both their ears. 

A full battalion is ready for them as they saddle their horses and ride out to the Misty Mountain paths. Guards on duty fill them in. The first warning was from Legolas' horn, they told them as they rode out toward the fight and the twins exchange glances filled with anxiety.

When they arrive they know they are too late to bloody their swords. Orcs are being burned and the twins are greeted by a grey cloaked figure. "Elladan, Elrohir."

"Gandalf?" They dismount in sync. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming back from Erebor,” Gandalf said, walking toward them, a tiny halfling in tow. “They must have followed us here--”

“Out of my way!” Estel’s voice rang out above all others and the twins cut Gandalf off to push past the wizard. The guards are holding back a battered looking Estel, stained with the black blood of Orc. “Let me go at once! I must save him!”

“Estel,” Elladan rushes to their foster brother and Estel struggles out of the other Elves’ hands and into Elladan’s. “Estel, what has happened here?”

"They've taken Greenleaf!" Their foster brother's face is full of panic, his grip tight. "They’ve taken Legolas! We have to go after them!" 

“It’s my fault,” the little halfling that had been with Gandalf speaks up. “I got in the way. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Gandalf assures him. “The Orcs were out to take prisoners this day, it would have been one or the other.”

“If we do not leave now, they will reach the Ettenmoors and we will not stand a chance,” Estel pleads to his brothers. “We must chase after them at once!”

“We will go," Elladan assures the young Ranger. "You must accompany Gandalf back to Rivendell.”

“No, I shall go with you,” Estel disagrees with his brothers. “I will not be able to sit and do nothing. Whatever the Halfling says, it is my fault Legolas was taken. I wasn’t…” Estel’s voice breaks. “I wasn’t strong enough--”

“You were strong enough,” Elrohir shakes Estel by the shoulders. “But you have been through battle this night and we need you refreshed. We cannot rescue him if you are not at your best.”

“Go with Gandalf and the rest of the soldiers back to Imladris. We will get Legolas back, we promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the longest fic I've ever written...I think haha. Family still here with me, making it hard to write. But we're at some dramatic parts now woot! and soon romance shall maybe follow in like...a lot of chapters. But we're at least closer to them falling in love than before right? *cries at my muses*
> 
> I'm tempted to write another fic that's all romance cause this one is killing me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the long hiatus, but family had to be dealt with, work to settle, a trip to Japan to be had hahahaha I've been quite busy, but now that my family is gone, I can finally get back to this fic! Lots of you have been commenting and nudging at me, and thank you for that! It makes me not want to leave this unfinished (although the ideas for this fic have literally spiralled out of control...you'll understand in about two chapters.....ish. maybe...depending on the muse ugh it likes to ramble). This update is quite short and I'm sorry for that, but regular updating to commence from now until my next visitors come next month (I'm such a busy bee omg)

Helplessness.

Estel thought he knew the feeling well. He was a Man within the walls of an Elven realm, training to become a warrior when all those around him have been so for hundreds if not thousands of years. But never has Estel felt this way before. 

As he watched his foster brothers give chase to the Orcs that had taken Legolas, he couldn't help the tightening in his chest nor the water from filling his eyes. The Elves around him take no notice, going about cleaning up their land of Orc filth. Estel thinks of stealing one of the horses, but he knows what was exchanged between the guards before the twins had ridden off. “Keep Estel from following.” They were always trying to keep him safe, even if he had no need of that.

A piercing whistle fills the air and Estel turns with wide eyes at the grey clad older man in their mists. “Oh, sorry,” he apologises to the Elves who give him an annoyed look. He looks over to Estel, smiling. “Hello there. You were the one with Legolas, were you not?” He greets in the Common tongue. 

“Yes,” Estel nods. “I am Estel, a ward of Elrond’s.”

“Ah, yes,” the old man nods, an eyebrow raised. “A ward of Elrond’s, you say? You wouldn’t happen to be a Ranger, would you?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Ah,” he nods again, expression thoughtful. “So that would mean you have learned the ways of reading the Earth, yes?”

“I have,” Estel frowns. _What did that have to do with anything?_ “I’m sorry, and you are?”

“Oh, I am Gandalf the Grey,” Gandalf offers a wizened hand to Estel and the Man shakes it. “I am, oh how would you say, a Wizard.” 

“A Wizard.” Estel has heard of Wizards. Elrond said they were nothing but trouble when he had asked the elder Elf about the term in a book. “What brings you to Rivendell?”

“I am escorting Bilbo back to Hobbiton,” Gandalf responds, motioning the halfling over. “We were attacked on the road and had to turn into Rivendell and hope for the best.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” the halfling called Bilbo says earnestly.

Estel tries to smile reassuringly, the small stature of the halfling making it hard for Estel to treat the other as more than just a child. “It’s okay. I’m sure Elladan and Elrohir will bring him back safe. I just wish...” 

“You wish you could join them?” Gandalf finishes with a smile.

Estel nods. “But there is no extra steeds and I do think any of the guards will allow me to borrow theirs.” _Or would they disobey a direct order from the twin sons of Elrond._ Estel adds despairingly in his mind.

“Well, I’m sure there’s an extra around here,” Gandalf shuffles around and Estel raises an eyebrow. Is the old man senile? “Or, at least, one will show up sooner or later.”

“What do you mean? All Elven steeds are loyal to their masters unless--” Estel is cut off as a commotion arises among the guards. 

“Ah, here he comes,” Gandalf grins as a pure white horse breaks through the lines of Elven guards, heading straight for them. “Asfalas.”

“That is Glorfindel’s steed,” Estel takes a step back even as Gandalf approaches the unbridled horse. “What’s he doing here? Is Glorfindel coming here?” He directs the last question to the guards, but they shake their heads.

“He is here for you,” Gandalf says, petting the horse with a fond familiarity that he has not seen anyone do except for Glorfindel himself. “Asfalas has agreed to help you. All you have to do is let him.”

Estel’s expression crunches in confusion. “What do you mean? Asfalas is Lord Glorfindel’s horse. I will be beheaded by him for even touching his steed.” Everyone knows that the white horses of Rivendell were bred especially for the golden haired Elf Lord. No one touches any of his horses without express permission, especially Asfalas, his personal horse of the purest of breeds. He has heard stories of people who have lost limbs to Glorfindel’s anger regarding his horses. They were very precious to him.

“Ah, and now I am certain you are from Rivendell.” Gandalf laughs at Estel's look of pure fear. “There is no need to worry. I will smooth things over with Glorfindel.” He brings Asfalas over to Estel, who flinches as the two come closer. The terror of being in the presence of the white horses of Rivendell without their master around had been taught to him well. Even the other Elf, some of which serve on Glorfindel's personal squad have given them a wide berth. The twins' orders or no, Glorfindel was much scarier than the whimsical sons of Elrond any day. “Oh stop that. Get on. Asfalas is a bit faster than the twins’ horses, he will bring you to them in haste.”

Estel steps back. “I can’t--”

“Do you not wish to rescue Legolas?” Gandalf questions. 

Estel hesitates, looking into the eyes of the horse. The twins would be angry. Glorfindel might have qualms about kinslaying, but there was nothing in the books about slaying Men, even if that Man was a ward of his best friend’s. 

But Estel thinks of Legolas as his friend now. Though they had not started off as such, the recent week and the previous night in the guards nest taught him that Legolas could be more than a surly teacher. And he has so precious few of friends, sheltered as he is in the valley. There was no way he was going to leave Legolas in the hands of Orc filth. If he went back with the guards now, he would regret it every day of his life.

With a grace he did not know he possessed, he mounds Asfalas, hands curling into the beautiful mane of the Elven horse even as the guards step forward to stop him. “Take me to Legolas and my brothers, Asfolas,” he whispers into the horse’s ear. “Hurry. Please.” 

***

Legolas is stunned awake when he is thrown to the ground from atop a warg, the filthy stench of the creatures that had captured him invading his mouth and nose. 

“Why are we stopping?” he hears one ask. 

“This slime is throwin’ off my balance! Make him walk!” 

“What if they gave chase?” another pipes up as Legolas blinks away the fleeting edges of unconsciousness.

“Let them catch up, stuck them like the pigs we slayed before!” Rambunctious laughter filled the air. Legolas jerks fully awake at the Orc’s words. Did Estel make it out alive? Were they overrun? What of Gandalf and the halfling? “Besides, we are at the edge of the Coldfells and close to the outpost.”

His vision fills with the dark of Orc heads as they pull him roughly to his feet. "Let me go!" He struggles uselessly against the tight bonds. Panic swells. Why did they take him hostage? Orcs have no need for prisoners of war. It is not their way. 

“Oh, it’s awake,” one of them pokes at him with the tip of a spear. “Look at him squirm.” 

"Our Master wanted the Wizard but the pretty Prince of Mirkwood will have to suffice," the ugliest of them cackles. Legolas blinks. How did they know who he was?

The Orc grins at his confusion. "You thought we didn't know who you are? We know all the Elf Lords of Middle Earth. Your mother was our greatest prize. The Orcs of Gundabad still ring with their victory." 

The peal of revolting laughter filled the air as Legolas' eyes widened at the revelation. What had they done to his mother? "Her and that Rivendell bitch we captured. Ah the good old days." The Orcs howl in unison and Legolas feels sick.

"Our golden age will come again," one of the Orcs pushes him forward into a march. "But I'm sure you won't be around to enjoy it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...have this thought that Elvish horses might live longer than regular horses, but I don't think they're immortal like their riders so I created Asfalas, which is the father of Asfaloth. It's pretty much the same name...cause I'm not a creative person obviously lol.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another assumption I'm making is that Elves do not grow as fast as humans so a ten year old elf is still but a toddler.

They say the memories of the Elves are long and vast but there are things even they cannot always keep. 

For Legolas, it is the memory of his mother's face. 

He was but a mere ten years of age when his mother had vanished from his life, so young for an Elf, barely even running, bones not yet solid enough to climb trees like his fellow elflings. 

He had been born in the twilight of spring, a light of joy amidst the growing unrest just beyond their home. The servants of Sauron had been defeated just a few years hence, but the stink of Mordor had not yet been completely swept away.

Legolas remembers his father's laughter, a rarity now that Legolas is older, but it used to permeate the halls of their home much like the drunken songs of his people's merrymaking do now. He remembers the idol worship, the fervent wishes of an Elfling to tower over others like his father.

In contrast, his mother had been slight, a head and a half smaller than her King. While his father would take him on long walks through the forest regaling to his small son the greatness of Doriath and their kin of long ago, his mother with careful him in the great halls, letting him roam with her trailing after his small feet, careful not to let him wander too close to the edges of the paths. 

She had been warm, a solid foundation on which both he and his father stood. When he thinks of her, he thinks of kindness, of bravery. Of a strong iron will that could stand up against the immovable mountain that was his father. 

But he also remembers a darkness, a shadow. Every time he thinks of her face it blurs. He remembers her touch, the smell of her clothing but the memory of her face seems to always elude him. 

The Orcs said they knew of his mother. Of the Lady Celebrian. He knows very little of what happened to the Twins' mother, only that she had been kidnapped and tortured beyond what even Elrond's mighty Elven ring could heal. 

There is so much he didn't know. Maybe Tauriel was right; his father's isolationist views were detrimental to his people. But maybe it's just Legolas that was left in the dark, sheltered as he was in his childhood and adult life. Or maybe he has been approaching this problem from the wrong angle.

He looks around at the creatures that surround him, stench almost making it impossible to breathe. Lesser Orcs, unintelligent and made only to follow orders. They wouldn't know anything of his mother. 

But their Master might. 

As he contemplated his escape, a horn sounded ahead of them and the company came to a halt. Around him, the Orcs shuffled uneasily. Out of the trees came lumbering trolls and more Orcs. Legolas' odds of escaping without harm were thinning, but not overly impossible. Trolls were dumb, easily outwitted and outrun. More Orcs, however, meant Legolas had to wait for the right time. And as the reinforcements came closer he realizes with a start that they are different. 

The obvious signs of their impurity aside, the new group of Orcs were broader, taller. They reminded him more of Azog than the Orc filth that currently surrounded him.

'Hybrids. Troll and Orc,' his mind supplies and Legolas' being shudders at the unnaturalness of it all. Hybrids are tough to manage. More intelligent than their lesser kin and even harder to kill or outrun. Not many survived the process of their 'birth' so they were few and far between. But in front of him stands a dozen of them battle ready.

There is something even more notorious going on here than he had originally thought. The kidnapping of elves and the appearance of these hybrids could only mean one thing.

War is coming. One far greater than the mere skirmish that had plagued the slopes of the Lonely Mountain. 

***

The trail is easy to follow. Orcs had no need to be stealthy, it was not part of their nature to be as such. Ellladan and Elrohir followed it swiftly on their horses, eyes tracking the shifts in the earth. 

“Elladan! Here.” Elrohir calls to his brother as he circles an indention in the landscape. “Legolas was thrown to the ground.” There’s a sigh of relief from both of them. They had no proof that Legolas was still alive and had feared that the Orcs had decided not to take their surly Prince as a hostage after all and disposed of him. Such a thing would have been too much to bear. “It looks like they’re making him walk.”

“There are Warg tracks this way,” Elladan motions toward the north. “We are naught but a mile from the edge of the Ettenmoors.”

“There will be wandering trolls then,” Elrohir dismounts. “We will need to be careful.” Elladan nods and dismounts as well. They take their packs from their twin steeds, both dark with silver manes. 

It’s then that they hear the snapping of a branch. The twins give each other a look before they draw their swords in unison and turn to confront the intruder.

“Ow! What are you doing?!” Estel’s frightful jump back from the tips of their blades causes the two to drop them in surprise. 

“Estel?!” the two of them exclaim in shock at the same time. “What are you doing here?!”

“I came to help!” Estel says as the two of them advance forward, twin looks of displeasure on their faces. 

“I thought we told you to go back with the others,” Elladan says, grabbing Estel by one shoulder while Elrohir grabs the other. “I thought I gave the guards orders not to let you follow.”

“What were you thinking?” Elrohir’s grip tightens. “This is dangerous! You need to go back.”

“What? No!” He jerks out of their grasp. “I’m just as much a warrior as the two of you. You can’t stop me from helping Legolas. He’s my friend!”

“Friend or not, you need to be kept safe!” Elladan frowns heavily. “Now get back on your hor...wait a second, is that Asfolas?”

The white horse neighed a greeting as Estel pets his mane, looking sheepish. “Gandalf said I could borrow him…”

“This changes everything,” Elrohir turns to Elladan. “What is safer, the Moors or Glorfindel?”

“The Moors,” Elladan says with great confidence. Elohir reluctantly agrees after a moment, glancing at the steed who seems to be unaware of the harm he had brought upon their charge.

“This isn’t a time to fool around,” Estel fumes at their antics, though he does share their worry. Even if the Wizard had said it was okay for Estel to borrow Asfolas, he still fears the golden Elf warrior’s wrath. “Legolas is still out there!”

The twins look at him, frowns marring their faces. They knew that even if they had tried to turn the young Ranger away he would just continue to follow them. They sigh simultaneously. “Fine, but you have to promise to stay away from the battle."

“You’re treating me like I’m a youngling who doesn’t know how to fight,” Aragorn grumbles but falls into step behind them. "I'm not promising to stay away from the battle. I can hold my own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this chapter has taken so long for me to get up and that it's so short. I can't swear that the next chapter will take a shorter time, but yeah I'm an awful human being. I'm not happy with this chapter at all (but when am I lol), which is why I haven't posted it even though I have kind of had it sitting on my docs for about three weeks now (maybe longer, i kept looking at it during those weeks but nothing new would come to mind) and I just couldn't think of any way to change it and I felt bad about making you guys wait so long, so here it is please don't kill me haha.

**Author's Note:**

> I am notorious at leaving epics unfinished. Someone nudge me when I forget to update for a time.


End file.
